Handbook for the Sellout
by denverhockeygirl
Summary: It's not a story. It's life. Grade 12 at Eden Hall brings about new beginings and ends. Connie leaves the team, the Bash Brothers struggle while Adam and Charlie unlock their own secrets. Maybe Ducks don't always fly together. [slash] [het] [complete]
1. Colorado Sellouts

**Author's Note**- Hello Kiddos. This is a co-write by me and my friend Jessi (**aiteane**) who are new to the MD section, but not to the site. The way the characters are portrayed is simply a spin off of the guys on my hockey team (I've been playing for over 8 years) since that's been my experience of hockey players and is usually true. Sadly most of us are immature assholish pricks. But never the less, there'll be some angst, some slash (seeing as we're both major slash shippers) and all that good shaum. Cheers. Oh yes, we both pledge (at least myself) on Paul Kariya that there will be no Mary Sue in this story, that there will be no (at least not much) romantic, sappy love shit. Hooray.

**Disclaimer**- The Mighty Ducks belong to Disney I suppose, as do all the characters. If you really want to sue us, go ahead, you'll get some crappy pink skate guards, a worn Paul Kariya poster, some chocolate covered espresso beans that have been in my co-captain's hockey bag since out tournament in Vail 2 years ago and lots and lots of stale marshmallows. Plus a textbook from Jessi, cause she's sorta nerdy like that.

~*~

**A/N**- [Kaila]- I know this chapter is immensely short, but I figured I needed to force myself to write something as a starter, as well as post something under my account. All feedback is GREATLY appreciated.

~*~

"Connie you puck slut," her teammate screeched chucking a stick at her. In defense the girl ducked down to the rubber floor of the locker room, behind her packed bag, avoiding any further flying equipment, knowing next time it could be a helmet or a even more likely, a skate. "I can't believe you," the raging brunette continued to rant, an expression of disgust filling her every feature.

"Juls, you're no better than me right now," she spat back from the barrier of her petty fort. "You're acting worse than most chicks do when they PMS." With that comment in mind in her opponent's mind, who paused for the harsh reality to sink in, she took the opportunity to dart up across the dank locker room, pining the girl to the wall.

"You fucking left us… for… a chick team. That's low… that's lower than fucking low… And you know it as well as me," she growled, wisps of dark hair plastered to her flustered face with sweat, her breath burning with heat against Connie's face.

"It's not. I can actually get somewhere there, make the Olympic team. Not everyone has such a screwed up attitude towards girl's hockey as you do. Take the stick out of your ass, the Select is an awesome team. And you know it," she said crisply, her words quiet and soft, a near whisper, yet sharp.

"I knew you were gonna sell out. You couldn't even defend yourself against Iceland in the Goodwill Games. Pussy," Julie retaliated back in the same tone, her ice blue eyes glowering into the other girl, sending a chill down her spine. In response she let go, releasing the goalie from her pinned position against the dark gray walls. For a second, she seemed to have won, a ringing silence echoing in the room, the only sound was of raspy, sharp breaths.

"At least I can admit I have one. It's easy for you to stay in this league, standing your pompous ass in that crease, taking a couple wristers, some slap shots, it's the same in both games. But if you ever played up, you would get demolished. Flattened, steamrolled, cooked and eaten for a pre-game snack. There are a lot of guys out there like Fulton and Portman, who get off on snapping people's necks, on checks when they don't even have possession. But what ever, it doesn't matter. I don't give a shit what you think. Get back to me sometime okay, tell me where playing here has lead you. Because you will just never amount to anything, you're a decent goaltender Julie, but you're in the wrong league. Get used to it, it's inevitable," she recited callously, her words seeming gentle, yet ruthless, like a slap in the face. 

With the satisfaction of the dazed look, bordering on frustration and homicidal tendencies, Connie picked up her bag and swung it onto her shoulder. "I'm leaving for Colorado tomorrow." And with that left the room, leaving her former teammate, still standing in silence.


	2. Selfishness

**Author's Note**: This is Jessi (**Aiteane**) the other co-author. This is pretty short too, but longer than the first.  She knows the hockey, I know the… uh… Read and review. 

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns MD, I co-own Portman with Kaila… she owns Banksie and Conway, I also own Fulton in all his disgruntledness. Maybe not.  Sue and you'll get whatever Kaila mentioned last chapter, plus a trumpet, sheet music, notebooks, Hamlet, random sci-fi/fantasy books and such from me… man I'm a dork… 

~*~

_Your selfishness is wearing thin. _

_Alone and strong, not giving in_

_To selfishness to anyone._

_If anything turns inside out_

_Look through the cloudiness in your mind_

_Turning anger to your friends_

_Blaming things on them_

Breaking Rules of promises 

_Blaming faces...undone_

-_Selfishness, Rufio_

Dean Portman smashed his fist through the head of his bed, wood splintered under his hand.  The sight of his own blood drove him further behind the red glare. A kick sent one of their desk chair flying, shattering against the wall; a dent marked its death.  Clawing at his mattress and tearing apart books and papers, nothing was safe from his rage.  Amber shards of several beer bottles lay on the floor waiting to be crushed into sand by heavy combat boots.  

"Dude? Look,  I'm sorry for pu-" Fulton started as he walked in the door.  Grabbing him by his hair, Portman pushed his diaphragm into his knee, punching him away.  Kicking out at his roommate, he was surprised when Fulton retaliated, tackling him to the floor.  Portman grunted in pain as pieces of the transparent glass scraped their way into his back.  With the height and weight advantage, he soon had their roles reversed.  Him on top, pushing all the punches, Fulton unable to recover enough between blows to retaliate.  

"Hey guys, wha-" Charlie stopped to blink at the bash brothers.  Regaining his sense, he tried to pull Dean off of his friend only to receive a punch in the stomach.  

"Fuck. You stu!" With guy and Dwayne, the captain managed to get the Bash off of his Bro.

"What the hell was that?" Fulton yelled holding his nose, "What's your fucking problem dude?" Portman fought the three guys, still blinded by his rage.

"Gerroff, I'm not gonna fight him." He growled.  Charlie reluctantly let go. "Get out Conway."

When the door had shut behind them, Portman turned to Fulton. "You, you're my fucking problem. You just prance around the school like a nancy gay ass thinking your life was a bitch. 'oh pity me! Pity me! My father beat me and my mom was addicted to some bad shit!' Well fuck off man because you're not the only one who had a crappy childhood.  Mine wasn't exactly a frolic through the daisies.  Get a fucking life Fult and quit trying to live mine."

Without another look at his roommate, Fulton grabbed his blades and slammed the door behind him.  Dean grabbed another beer from their stash and chugged the rest of it down.  

*~*~*

Barely able to pull his skates on, Fulton bladed towards no particular place.  Did he really mean that? Was he just a whiny bitch to him? A fuck toy.  Port was drunk off his ass and Fulton knew it, but that really wasn't an excuse for Dean.  _Every good lie has a grain of truth.  _When did Calla get resurrected?  G-d he couldn't even accept that she had been dead for seven years.  

He realized he was in front of the lots where they played street hockey.  Skating around the lot, he suddenly wished he had a stick and a puck. 

Portman would forget half of what he said tomorrow, say he was sorry and there was no harm meant by it.  They would have make up sex and it would be "forgotten" another pothole in their relationship.  The road would become unbearable soon.  Really, he never had forgotten anything Portman had said to him.  He was clumsy in bed, he sucked at guitar, and hockey, and sucking.  He had no life.  He was just a white dumb fuck.  Exhausted from his wounds and skating, he dropped to the ground and curled up near the bin they always used as a goal.

*~*~*

Dean woke to a throbbing ache behind his eyes.  Breathing in, he caught a whiff of hockey equipment and oranges.  _Fult._ Somehow he had fallen asleep on Fulton's bed, and he wasn't nude. Interesting.  Reaching over expecting to find him close by, his hand came up empty.

"Fult?" he rasped.  Clearing his throat again, "Fulton?" no one else was in the room.  Sitting up he looked around.  The room was trashed.  _Shit._  He had drunk too much again.

Dean Portman never said he could control his anger; it just got out of hand more when he was shitfaced. A lot more.  Never as a kid had he learned to control his anger.  He was always at an extreme.  Happy? Bouncing off the walls.  Bored? Almost dead. Angry? Could be the Hulk, only less green, less square, and less purple (though he did own a pair of purple boxers)  Last night probably hadn't been pretty.  All he remembered was getting mad at Fult for wanting to take a chance with telling the rest of the team.  Fulton had stormed out, and he had reached into their stash of alcohol, hidden behind a peel of plaster in the closet.  Looking to the floor he realized how much he had drunk, by the sheer amount of broken glass.  Wood, paper, blood, cotton, clothes, hangars, broken tapes, and vinyls covered the floor as though a typhoon had ripped through the room, though the beds and the closet were relatively intact.  The last time he got angry was… last week, but the last time it had been this bad was fourteen at the Goodwill Games.  With Stanson's ugly mug smirking at him in the smuggest fashion as he was led off the ice.  He should have taken him out too, if he was already out of the game.  _I didn't hurt anyone did I? he worried to himself as he groped his hockey bag for Advil.  Just as he swallowed the pills dry, Fulton walked in._

Barley able to hold his skates, he limped into the dorm.  A black eyes and a bruised jawline protruded from his face.  A sharp crimson line snaked down his left cheek.  By the way he walked, Portman could tell he was hurt in more than his face.

"I didn't-" He started.

"Fuck you Portman, you know what you did."   Pulling his shirt over his head, Fulton collapsed onto his bed back down.  An old puckered scar snaked off of his shoulder just under his collar bones, but what was new to Portman were the bruises under Reed's ribs.  

"I'm sorry dude, I didn't mean…"

"Oh but you did, do me a favor and fuck off Dean?" Fulton sighed heavily.  Defeatist tone settling across his voice as he turned towards the wall on the mattress Portman was just lying on.  The bash stared at Fulton's head for a while, before going out to find a broom too clean his mess.  _I always do something I'll regret. _

*~*~*

His bed smelled like him.  Portman had slept there last night, he could tell.  G-d that bash is worse than a chick with his mood swings.  _He just wants in your pants, that's why he's being all chummy.  But he didn't really believe that.  He wanted to believe they had some semblance of a relationship.  Best friends to fuck buddies, well, whadaya know? Sometimes it became so hard to deal with him.  He never knew how Dean was going to react to what he said.  It did bring color into the relationship, but still, consistency would be nice._

Portman walked back in, combat boots clunking on the wooden floors.  He was…sweeping? Fulton strained his ears to confirm.  _Yup, sweeping._  What the hell is his problem? Beating up on him, and then he expects Fulton to just take him with open arms and fuck him? No! fuck buddy? Fine. But he wouldn't stand to be a fuck toy, a bitch.  Fulton loved him, but hated him at the same time.  Hated him for being what he was, white trash, and living the name down, with mood swings and rage.  Lots of rage.  It erupted frequently.

"You goin to class man?" Portman asked softly

"No.  I don't feel well."

"Sorry Fult, I can't-"

"I know.  Give me space dude."

The door closed behind the other Bash Brother.


	3. Cigarettes and Razor Burn

**Author's Note-** I'm supposed to start incorporating Conway into this, as Jessi says. But I can't think of a plot for the life of me. So I'm just going to write some filler Julie/Connie crap. Cheers. Oh yes as I digress, I'm trying to keep this as realistic as possible. I hate to sound rude and condescending but there's so many unrealistic fics here it's frustrating. 

Oh yes, shout outs to noters (I've always wanted to do this, I'm a bit of a note whore eh? And I'm bored…)

**Disclaimer-** I'll write a new one in due time. _The Mighty Ducks belong to Disney I suppose, as do all the characters. If you really want to sue us, go ahead, you'll get some crappy pink skate guards, a worn Paul Kariya poster, some chocolate covered espresso beans that have been in my co-captain's hockey bag since out tournament in Vail 2 years ago and lots and lots of stale marshmallows. Plus a textbook from Jessi, cause she's sorta nerdy like that._

~*~

[Percussion] Thanks. I'm not a big fan of the fluffy everyone loves everyone and gets along great crap. Hockey teams just aren't like that from my experience.

[Meme-Ann] Kariya is mine :-D Since 95. So there :sticks out tongue mockingly:

[anne918] I was never a huge Connie fan either.

[plainjane] Well Connie's playing for the Select, U 19, Colorado's best girl's team. I was asked to join but refused. From my knowledge they practice in the Denver metro area, Aurora, Arvada, Littleton, etc. Where in Colorado do you hail from?

[Schiz] There's a lot of puck sluts out there… :groans: But thanks.

[crazy4nc128] Thanks. I can't guarantee frequent updating, both Jessi and myself have the worst bouts of writer's block.

[kshyne99] It's hard to figure out what to do with the rest of the Ducks. I want to be very realistic, yet angsty. It's hard to balance the two. And you sadly can't have too much slash and substance abuse.

[LostDreams] That's what I hear. Especially when there's a much much greater amount of guys' leagues than girls' it's much easier to be spotted on a girl's league.

[kellyerielf] Jessi sends her thanks. 

[Padfoots] KAITLIN WATCH THE MOVIES!!!! :-D You know I love you… occasionally. 

[alienated lycanthrope] Don't worry. Jessi is a complete sucker for fluff, so I think it will all wind up nicely in the end. 

[Wheeler Chick] I'm having a crisis writing the Julie/Connie portion. I've already somewhat gotten rid of one of them by joining a chick league, now I'm torn whether or not I should give in to what I stand against and get Julie involved with one of the guys or even base her on a shrew type character, or make her a girl too. For personal sake I choose the latter, but for plot's sake I think I'll make her a bitch. I will always reach for the stars, lol.

[Vinnies-Angel] Don't worry mon cher, there will be plenty of slash ;-)

~*~

Julie recklessly applied the strong scented balm to her lips. The small tube held deformed purple wax that was indented by repeated use on her friend's lips. A cheap grape fragrance filled her senses now as a layer of soft slick Chap Stick swathed her mouth. The longer she sat there inhaling the overwhelming scent began to go slightly rancid, which posed the question in her mind, 'Can chap stick go bad?' Hastily she searched the text of the tube for some indicator of an expiration date, coming up with only Bonnie Bell and Groovy Grape. Her mind now moving a hundred miles of hour in complete misdirection, she tossed the tube into her bag from her seat on the bench and flung herself against the wall with a hard thud.

She clenched her eyes shut, as the voices and the noise and the thoughts had become overwhelming, no longer distinguishable they ran together in a heavy hum. Taking long steady deep breaths, damp heavy air perfumed by stale sweat filled her lungs. Once she had regained some sense of control she opened her eyes, to find she was alone in the locker room, Connie was not there with her. Only her lip gloss remained.

"Julie Gaffney, get a fucking hold of yourself. You're loosing your mind because your friend decided to sell out. Good G-d," she groaned running her hand through her damp dirty blonde hair, as she finished ripping her garter off. With a sense of dazed apathy she stuffed her equipment recklessly into her bag, contrare to her usual semi organization. Her chest protector was knotted with her one sock and garter, her neck guard somehow tied into her pants and covered with tape balls. "You're fucking loosing it Gaffney," she spat at herself. "Admit it you need Connie and she'll probably never speak to you again." She tore her sweat soaked shirt over her head before responding to her comment. "But you know Connie's not like that, she's too damn perfect. She'll accept you with open arms, it will be like a scene from a cheesy cheep romance novel or teen movie or… I dunno someth-"

"Cat-Lady you got any stick ta-?" a familiar brunette asked entering the room pausing in awe at the one woman argument that was occurring. Julie stopped in mid breath and spun around to the door where her captain stood, damp brown curls falling into his face, which held a bemused look. 

"Your mom ever teach you to knock Conway?" she spat somewhat regaining her composure carelessly pulling a red Volcom hoodie over her head.

"Pop a Midol Juls, I just was wondering if you had any stick tape," he shrugged running his fingers through his hair, his deep brown eyes shining carelessly.

"Unprepared eh?" she retorted tossing her bag onto her shoulder.

"No, just out of tape. Sorry for disturbing you your royal highness of the net," he replied curtly with a lighthearted smirk on his face. "I willith return to my den while I leave thy alone with thy raging hormones. Good day m'lady," he bowed backing out of the room the door closing silently. Julie scowled her eyebrows knitted in disgust spitting towards the trashcan in the middle of the room.

'If only Con was here,' she sighed silently rubbing her lips together and walking towards the door. They were sticky now the sweet smoothness having disappeared. 

~*~

Charlie left the rink, bag on his shoulder, hood over his head, his demeanor having changed. The crisp night air bit into his flesh, nipped at his bones, refreshed his spirit. Walking alone in solitude he felt was the only time he could be himself. When he was around his team, his teachers, his mom, he was Charlie "Captain Duck" Conway. The charismatic determined leader, who defied the odds and always held his head high. It was all a veneer. As he walked along the dark ally way, snow banks encrusted with dirt and grime, puddles filled with trash, a tint of orange light deflecting from the street lamps, he could be himself. He didn't have to pretend, he didn't always have to have that damned smile on his face, the sense of determination. He could be lost, confused and alone. 

Sighing he walked towards a trash bin outside what probably was a bar from the scent. Dropping his bag into the littered snow he collapsed on it burying his head in his lap his breathing slow and raspy. He gnawed on his lip unknowingly digging through his hoodie pocket. Looking around to see nothing but limp bags of trash, scattered bottles and a tattered piece of cardboard, probably where someone was planning on spending the night he pushed up his one sleeve his white flesh glowing in comparison to the navy fabric. In the dim light traces of purple scars stimulated by the cold ran jagged up his arm to his elbow. Scattered deep crevasses surrounded by black flesh were indented amongst the lines. Cigarettes and razor burns, he sighed precariously. Taking a razor he had jacked from his Biology class during his lap he took the sharp point and dug it into his flesh, tearing tenderly along the tell tale green vein. First a barren path was invisible but as he clenched his fist the crevasse began to fill with crimson blood. It came soon in droplets and puddles and he continued to draw aimlessly, digging with passion, tears of salt and crimson mixing.

Biting his lip from the welcomed throbbing pain and biting cold, his cheeks freezing with dampness he asked himself chocking back tears, 'Wouldn't they like to see their Captain now?' 


	4. Thanks for Nothing

**Author's Note-** [Kaila] Wow. I am now officially addicted to Conway angst. :grins evilly: So I wrote this instead of revising my Lit paper.

**Disclaimer-** Fuck it, go back a chapter if you're desperate to read it.

~*~

Charlie trudged unwillingly up the stairs to the place where he had spent so many years. Without stopping he groaned rolling his eyes, seeing that the dim bulb that attempted (and always failed) to light the staircase had died, just like it had time after time before. In some respects it was a good thing, it hid the dark damp cement walls from view, the grime and grunge and bodily fluids that stained the walls, that added to the sense of despair were out of sight. But the fact remained that they were still there, no matter how hard you shut your eyes or turned off the lights, you couldn't veil yourself from reality he taunted himself. 

He climbed the last step, his feet dragging aimlessly along the tattered and stained carpet, the colour of crimson and midnight, all the better to hide the stains. He presumed that at one point in time the apartment complex may have been presentable, the stairs proud and painted, the light shining bright, for people to climb towards their new apartments, passing over the fresh carpeting. But this was long before he and his mom had moved in, 14 years ago. His earliest memories were from the building, the filthiest dingiest corners. The gunshot that had rung through the air from the apartment downstairs when he was only 7 haunted him to this day. The shrieks and moans and cries that pierced the air night and day. The constant stench of alcohol that flooded the air, the tell tale bloodstains that sometimes appeared the next morning on the floor. The sounds and memories of his youth.

Taking a final deep breath, hoping to flood out the images he opened the battered door to the apartment stepping inside. A silent hum filled the air of the main room. He looked around, to the small 3 room dwelling. The blinds were pulled shut, the room lit only by small rays of moonlight that had battled past the plastic shades. A respectable blue couch sat to his left near the window, the fabric worn by age. A decent sized framed picture of him and his mom tried to fill the barren walls with a sense of warmth. Charlie remembered the photo well, he was only about 5, and it was on the shore of some lake in upper Minnesota. They drove up there, just the two of them to camp the last time she had been able to take time off. It sent memories rebounding through his head, of the small amount sick days he spent lying there, alone, with only the small antennaed TV to keep him company. His mom could never get time off work without risking loosing their welfare benefits. The TV was gone, the card table only holding a couple magazines and a tattered paperback book that she probably hadn't the time to read the cover of yet. He shrugged figuring she had sold the TV at a Pawn Shop or something after he left for Eden Hall. She had no need for it. The kitchen was neat and meager, a small fridge humming monotonously in the corner, yellowed and cracked with age. A battered microwave stood next to the sink on the small linoleum cupboard. His mom probably heated up occasional TV Dinners just like he had if he had the misfortune of eating at home as opposed to the diner or a friend's. The residence was tidy yet bare, nothing to be proud of, but not dismantled enough to earn shame. Charlie remembered the days he sat at the diner after school through elementary and middle school, his mom sometimes dreaming of fixing the place up, putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls, maybe some more pictures. He'd smile and nod envisioning the fix ups, but even then he knew it'd never happen, she just didn't have the time. 

He glanced at his watch, which read 11:30. The diner didn't close until midnight on weekends, and she always had run the closing shift. He knew better than to wait up, still pondering why he had even come by to visit as opposed to staying at school for the weekend. There was no food, no real washing machine besides the one that sat solemnly in the damp mildewy basement, which probably didn't even work anymore, and no family. But he knew not to muse it too long, without sinking into a never ending cycle of analyzation. 

Rubbing his eyes groggily, he dropped the duffle bag full of dirty clothes onto the kitchen floor, and stumbled down the short hallway to his room. He no longer felt the need to observe every passing light and object, he was a slave to his emotional exhaustion. Just like all those years before he knew the only place he could temporarily escape reality was in his dreams. Not at Eden Hall, not in Los Angeles, not in the diner. Only the subconscious held the gateway to contentment. With that last thought in mind he fell wearily onto the bare futon on the floor, engulfed by slumber and dreams.

~*~

Casey staggered into the apartment, stuck in the nauseatingly monotonous cycle of her life. Work from 7 in the morning to either 10 or 12 just to make ends meet, pay taxes, pay of debts she had developed while Charlie lived at home and to stay on welfare. It had been like that for as long as she remembered since she left Robert when Charlie was two. As she set her purse on the kitchen cupboard she tripped clumsily over something on the floor. She looked down running her hand through her thick curly hair noticing the plain black duffle. She smiled, the first time in a few weeks. Charlie must have come home for the weekend.

Standing at the doorway of her son's room, she sighed contently. The 16 year old lay passed out on the bare white futon, still in an old hockey jersey and jeans. His moppy curly hair fell defiantly into his eyes, his face peaceful with sleep. She kneeled down to his side, now numb to her uncomfortable uniform and worn coat, running her fingers raw from an unfortunate bout of dish duty through the thick curls. She softly kissed his cheek, before standing up and pausing surveying the room. The only illumination gave from the open door to her room across the hallway. The dim moonlight radiated off the bare white walls chipped from posters and hockey sticks, an occasional glossy hockey player stared back at her. Other than that and the futon the rest of his meager possessions had been moved to the dorm. Inhaling the lingering scent of sweat that still inhabited the room, she smiled softly, somehow knowing all the work she had put in over the years was worth something. Worth it to watch him play hockey all those years, and get into Eden Hall, where he'd have opportunities to get out of this dump. To get out of the welfare cycle, to get out of the city. She turned around to the door, her thoughts becoming incoherent from exhaustion, looking back once at her child.  'If I can't give him anything else than what I have I can at least be motherly and do his laundry' she thought mind wandering back to the full duffel bag.

Picking up the heavy sack, she lugged it downstairs being careful to stay silent until she was out of her apartment, even though she knew Charlie could sleep through a nuclear bomb.  Instinctively she pulled the string attached to the light above head, which flickered sporadically until a dim light filled the room. With practiced ease, she shuffled all the clothes so two loads were separated within the bag.  Picking up the darks, she habitually checked pockets. As she acquired a pen, a three-fourths eaten pack of Extra gum, a dollar and his school ID, she picked up his wind pants.  A plastic bag fell into her hand as she scrutinized the substance. Her eyes widened in recognition of the sickly sweet smell, the scent that brought back painful recognitions from decades before.  Forgetting his clothes in the basement she barged into his room and kicked the futon screeching, "CHARLES CONWAY! What the HELL is this?"

Charlie darted up, eyes wide in delusional shock, stating bluntly "Banks? What dude?". Within seconds he regained his composure and his sense of reality, shaking his head gazing quickly around the room.

"Mom… what time is it?" he croaked, voice dry.

"It doesn't matter. I just want you to tell me what this is," she spat impatiently throwing the baggie in his lap. His reflexes slow, he picked up the bag with one hand holding it inches from his face in an attempt to see what it was in the dim light. Completely oblivious, he took one sniff of it, and his eyes opened wide in shock.

"I-I-I don't know what the hell it is mom, why'd you wake me up?" he stumbled on his words frantically, trying to sound innocent.

"Don't play dumb," she snarled ripping the bag from his hands. "You know exactly what it is."

"Seriously, I don't," he responded, his words more fluid, yet still shaking. Blood pounded through his temples, his mind murky with pressure and confusion.

"Charles Andrew. I did not work my ass of for all those years to keep our heads above water and for you to go become, some- some-," she paused, her clear blue eyes glazed over with venomous anger. "Druggie."

"You think I? No way. I don't do that shit. I'd get kicked off of the team, loose my scholarship, have to come back he-" he paused in midsentance. He bit his lip, looking at the stained blue carpet, cheeks flushing with the heat of shame. Slowly he looked up, his mom silent, her eyes closed in what appeared to be a combination of grief and rage. "M-mom, I didn't mean it," he stuttered softly. "I really di-"

"You did," she muttered. "You meant it. And right now I don't care. I'm fed up with all this shit. I've worked more than you can ever comprehend, I missed you growing up so you didn't turn out like this. It was all worthless. Completely fucking worthless," she began to speak without pausing, her words gaining power and velocity like an oncoming engine. "I don't give a shit anymore. I don't care if you turn out like your good for nothing piece of shit father, some drug addict living in a damned ally way. Maybe then, you'll finally realize how fucking lucky you are."

A burning and deafening silence echoed through the room before Charlie responded. "You know what mom. Maybe I'd be better off if you hadn't done anything. My childhood was fucking nothing. Absolutely nothing. We spent real time away from this place once in 16 years. All the nights alone, the games you never showed up for, and the conferences you missed, for this piece of shit hole in the dump. I'm surprised I haven't been shot yet. You think you've done everything right and I'm the fucked up ungrateful little bitch, well look in the mirror," growled back, tears of rage burning down his cheeks, his throat knotted in fury, his breaths raspy and deep. He stood up to face the woman, looking down at her petite frame. "Thanks for nothing… mom," he spat. 

He may as well have just slapped her in the face for his words appeared to have a more profound effect. "You know what," she whispered biting her lip, trying to choke back tears. "Leave. Get the hell out of this house. You don't deserve it. Go back to your friends at your rich school and forget about everything. Forget about me," she shrieked. "Forget about everything and see where it gets you." 

"Fine…" he growled, head down walking out the door. "If you even call this dump a house. I will. I fucking will." 

Casey stood there shaking in rage as she heard the echoing footsteps pick up speed towards the door, which slammed shut echoing through the apartment. With that sound in mind, she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.


	5. To the Window To the Wall

**Author's Note- **[Kaila] I'm on a roll here. I brought Banks into this kiddos. As my boyfriend would say about his Mormon stepbrothers who think they're black thugs and listen to The Starting Line, "They're a little confused". Just like Banksie. Jessi will be back soon with Bash Slash to add. She also threw in some of the writing, I hit a rut so she gave me a couple paragraphs to work with, she's my hero.

**Disclaimer**- I don't own jack. If you'd like to sue I can get Cubby to buy you a frosty and get a free Prijon kayak with complimentary stickers instead.

~*~

[crazy4nc128] Ahh thank you. Anyway the only definite slash pairing is Fulton/Portman (which no ones knows about). There will be hints of slash amongst other characters but no definite relationships. One sided slash angst is the best!

[NYgoldfish54] I just live for angst if you can't tell. Anyway you'll find out sure enough about the drugs Casey found…

[anne918] I **adore** Charlie angst too. If I were a guy I'd probably attempt to jack off to it (okay rambling now). Anyway don't worry you'll have enough of Banksie coming up ;-)

[Padfoots-Pirate] Like I said Kaitlin, I get off on angst. It's fun dammit :-D :-D

[Meme-Anne] Yes, I get Kariya :does a little dance: I'd be glad to share him though.

[C-chan96] Ah Conway angst. :grins: I think it's the best because he comes off so damn perfect in the movies. Any kid in his situation wouldn't exactly be well off in the head. But there will be much more of that to come…

[KShyne99] There will be Banks, do not fear! I'm not a big fan of either of the girls myself, it was quite easy to write Connie out. She'll still be making appearances though, very much involved in the plot. 

Thank you to everyone who's taken the time out of their busy schedules to read this.

~*~

Adam sauntered melodramatically down the dim hallway of the dorm. The windows at either end let in traces of moonlight that was overpowered by overhead lamps every couple metres. Charlie had gone home for the weekend, to visit his mom who had gotten time off work. Adam put on his game face, smiling as his roommate shared the news with him. In reality he was bitterly jealous. He was the cake eater, the one who had the picturesque family, the beautiful childhood, yet it was all a facade. He envied Charlie, he may have been poor, had a single mom, but from those stories he told to Adam sometimes at night, the blinds of the room drawn shut, the tales he wove from the darkness, were the things Adam had always longed for. Driving up with just his parents to go camping in Canada, nights spent at home watching movies and cooking (and occasionally burning) dinner, his family showing up to support him at most of his practices and games. He would have killed for that. 'Suppose it's that damn analogy or whatever, the grass is always greener on the other side,' he shrugged to himself.

As he approached his room he ran head onto a moving figure which snapped him out of his longing daze. 

"Watch where the fuck you're going Cake-Eater," the blonde spat, her usually twinkling green eyes misted and glazed over, dull, empty and bloodshot, her hair falling disheveled past her shoulders. Gaffney was no priss but she usually had a minor sense of upkeep to her. Yet from a glance her hair was greasy and tangled, t-shirt wrinkled, sweats stained, all with dark circles shadowing her eyes. Adam bit his lip,

"Sorry Julie, didn't mean too," he mumbled, his eyes on the intricate designs of the burgandy carpeting. 

"That's what they all say, careless prick," she spat back picking up her pace, cursing her way down the hall towards the stairs. Adam shrugged off the sudden outburst as PMS or some other "chick problem" and continued on the intuitive path to his dorm.

Instinctively opening the door he sprawled across the first bed he could get to, Charlie's.  His had his hockey bag on his own; there was too much effort involved in moving it off. Pressing his face into the navy blue pillow, the flannel worn with use, he inhaled deeply, the scents of cologne, sweat and… Conway filling his lungs. The fragrance still lingering comfortingly he turned over staring at the textured ceiling sighing.  His brother had gotten into Yale on a hockey scholarship.  That one day, his mother had called screeching about how she didn't raise her kids to get B's in school.  She didn't raise her kids at all.  All she had done was work.  Sure, Charlie's mom worked too, but his own mom didn't even have to. Charlie's mom did it because she loved him and would do anything to support him. His mom did it to impress that nauseatingly distinct social class she belonged to. His damn mother who attended the debutoine meetings, and went to the Southern Baptist church twice a week and hosted magnifigant parties. And his father.  Oh G-d, he had tried so hard as a kid to please him.  To be as good as his brother; the stories of failure and lost attempts were endless and repetitive, to put it bluntly, he never was.  

"Why can't you ever be as good as Mark?" echoed through his head at every malfunction.  The Goodwill games, he was devastated when Bombay found out.  Coach didn't understand.  His father didn't have another son to compare him to.  He was only under his own pressure.  Adam would never even conceive of ruling his own life.  Mark did.  His father did.  He did love hockey, but it wasn't fun anymore.  It hadn't been fun for a while.  It became only a way for his father to guide his rule under his hard hand.

He wished he could be more like Charlie, he exhaled deeply, have passion for the game. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, to the glossy posters on the walls of some of both the boy's role models. Paul Kariya, Peter Forsberg, Mats Sundin, Steve Yzerman and  Joe Sakic, the best of the NHL offensive leaders, adorned the white washed walls. Charlie had stapled a couple Playboy centrefolds over his bed at the beginning of the year, against what he must have conceived as Adam's joking protests. But he really despised them. Their tight bronzed skin, perfectly curved bodies and breasts, their long silky hair, it was all sickening to him, sent chills of disgust to his stomach. But he could never say anything without risk of being a 'gay ass pansy'.

He lay there, lost in thought, not wanting to return to the Rec Room to watch movies unaccompanied, on a corner of the couch until he could no longer manage to keep his eyes open. He could join Fulton and Portman if he wanted to get trashed or stoned. Averman, Ken and Goldberg spent their time off attempting and failing to pick up the girls of Eden, something Adam despised anyway, Dwayne and Russ were probably off causing some havoc, like mischievous chaos was something they got off on, or if he was feeling particularly suicidal he could go kamikaze and track down Julie to see what the hell was going on. As logic began to register he decided his best choice was none of the options, rather to sleep away the empty hours, until practice.

With that thought in mind, and the muffled clatter that came across the hallway, where some party had probably begun, he closed his eyes. Drifting off to thoughts of Conway and the sounds of 'To the window…. To the wall… Until the sweat drops off my balls… All these females crawl…".


	6. Welcome to Colourful Colorado

**Author's Note- **[Kaila] Sorry it's taken so long to update if anyone is attached to this fic by chance. I've had the worst writer's block lately and haven't been able to write any of my fan fic or originals. This chapter is just to break the ice and get me back into writing, so sorry if it's underdeveloped, unexciting and short. And just regarding the last chapter, I really despise that 'To the Window' song, for the record.

**Disclaimer**- Once again I don't own jack. If you'd like to sue I can get Cubby to buy you a frosty and get a free Prijon kayak with complimentary stickers instead. I don't own Smoky Hill HS, the Cherry Creek SD does. And I don't own Chris or Donna Miller. They live in North Van and own themselves.

~*~

[crazy4nc128] Thanks again!

[NYgoldfish54] You foretell correctly. However I'm hoping it won't be along the lines of stereotypical Charlie/Adam angst.  

[anne918] Don't worry mon cherie, Adam's family problems won't be left as they are currently. I'll elaborate.

[Padfoots-Pirate] Cubby is quitting his job at Wildwasser, therefore no more free Prijon stickers. However I'll get you a copy of the awesome article on them I wrote for the Smoky paper.

[Meme-Anne] Yes, I get Kariya :does a little dance: I'd be glad to share him though.

[C-chan96] I'm working on some good Spazway angst that hits deep yet realistically. It's hard but I'll eventually think of something… I hope.

And once again thank you to everyone who's taken the time out of their busy schedules to read this.

~*~

"So Con, how do you like Smoky Hill so far?" the middle aged blonde asked from across the dinner table. Pausing a moment to swallow she cleared her throat.

  
"It's a pretty good school, I like it," she smiled sweetly, knowing she wasn't lying yet not exactly being truthful. There was no hockey team at the school, due to what Chris had explained as district policy, the 3,000 member student body was much larger and uninviting than her former prep school, her boyfriend wasn't there, the usual things people who are new to an area have trouble with adjusting to. Then again what was gained by spewing petty complaints to her hostess at the dinner table? Nothing.

"A bit different than Minnesota eh? But that's great to know, if you have any trouble adjusting, just let me know. I'll have Chris show you around," she beamed, her cheerfulness welcoming, yet in due time would probably become overwhelming. "Right hun?" she asked the teenager who sat beside her.

"Yea mum," he mumbled deeply, casting his deep unfathomable hazel eyes at his plate. Chris was Donna's only son, 17 like herself and also a senior. Connie noticed that he held an aura about himself. His shyness was respectable and convivial compared to the immature rowdiness she had found in most guys, yet he had a radiant side to him, enjoying conversations and chuckling. Not that she knew why she was passing judgment on the brunette yet, seeing as she had been in Colorado for only 3 short days. 

"Thanks Donna, it's really great of you to be this hospitable and open for me," she thanked generously courteously swallowing her final bite of spaghetti. "Especially when you're new to the area as well."

"Oh it's absolutely no problem! It's nice having an extra someone around the house. Chris doesn't like to stay home much and even Emily gets lonely," she pouted youthfully, referring to her small black dog who seemed to have run of the house. Like her owner she was petite and proper yet amusing and energetic.

"Mum… I'm not always out, especially since most of my friends are still in BC," he rebutted, grabbing another piece of bread. Chris and Donna had moved to Aurora a year prior from Vancouver, because of a job opportunity. Even landing a spot on the Littleton Hawks Midget AAA team hadn't been quite enough to satisfy him, he must have had a hard time starting a new with his quiet demeanor.

"I know, I know Christopher, I'm sorry. But anyway Connie, when is your first practice?" the blonde asked attempting not to run the dinnertime conversation into the void of personal problems.

"Um tomorrow after school, 4:30 at the Arapahoe," she recalled out of memory. When she was still in Minneapolis the team had sent her a tentative schedule of practices, games and tournaments, which she had read many times over after Julie had fallen asleep. The idea of being able to skate with one of the best female teams in the country was a continuous adrenaline rush, and contrary to her ex-goaltender's bitter and harsh remarks, she knew it was an honour, and a real chance to expand her horizons with hockey.

"That's great. But you'll need a ride… I'm sure Chris could, right honey?" she asked the close to unconscious figure, who had taken a sudden strong interest in the roll he was tearing apart, having yet to make eye contact with his mom or Connie.

"Um, yeah sure, it'll be okay." And for some reason, the uneasy anxious feeling in the pit of the teenage girl's stomach intensified, making her even more eager for the following day. 

~*~

**A/N 2-** I was planning on expounding upon what happened to our dear friend Conway, but decided not to since my boyfriend invited himself over. I'll write that in due time though, never fear :chuckles:


	7. Friday Night Escapades

**Author's Note- **[Kaila] Yes Jessi still has a part in this she just… I dunno what she's doing right now. This is once again some short snippets of different scenes to set the grounds for more action and in depth "coverage". I'm going to start bringing in a lot of original characters that don't play a huge part in the story. I just find it ridiculous when everyone has the Ducks be friends with only the Ducks. As always all flames, notes, praise, and just random comments are appreciated, for I am a note whore.

**Disclaimer**- New disclaimer time! To anyone wishing to sue for I own none of this, even the OC's names and personas belong to living people, you may and will receive a banana Popsicle. Mmmmm…

~*~

Julie sprawled out aimlessly on her bed, semi unconscious, having been unable to get a good night's sleep since Tuesday. As she pondered the thought me, she decided that's the last time she had showered, even including 3 hockey practices. 

'That would explain the smell Alliy keeps mentioning,' she thought to herself, remembering her roommate and Connie's close friend's reaction. She wasn't a particularly bad person to be placed with, the average sized blonde wasn't prissy in a stereotypical sense, had mastered the tomboy veneer and preferred to lounge around in soccer shorts and t-shirts. Her constant hyperactivity was overwhelming and frustrating, yet was often good for a laugh. The two girls were mutual friends, shared conversations about school and sports, yet never truly connected. Julie was described as a tyrant, a real bitch, while Alliy was well liked and social, who's constant training for soccer and field hockey and ever changing stream of boyfriends and activities isolated the two. And the fact that it was a Friday night would answer her question to where the girl would be. Off with her boy toy du jour (although you could never truly tell where her feelings lay for when she wasn't hanging off the poor guy in the halls and in the dorm, she was touching and flirting with anything that contained a Y chromosome in site and was within reasonable age difference). 

Just as she turned over to inhale the musky scent of body odor and spearmint that seemed to radiate from her mint green comforter, the door to the room opened and simultaneously a voice shot her up from her half slumber.

"Julie Gaffney, it is 10 pm on a Friday night and you're lounging around in bed?" the boy spat sarcastically. Sure enough, in all straight moppy hair, purse carrying, satirical goodness it was Nick. One of the only people in whom she could relate to and bitch to and yet be respected by. Together they were the assholes of Eden Hall.

"Yes sir Nicholas," she mumbled, face still burrowed deep into her bed.

"And honestly woman," he retorted approaching the bed. "You reek like freshly slaughtered pig on a hot humid day. When is the last time you showered." Grabbing a piece of her limp blonde hair he tossed it where it landed back on shoulder. "Your hair is going to turn into a giant lump of green tainted mold if you aren't to at least attempt to wash it soon. I could fix the breaks to my car with this oil. And those clothes? I know people who have rags more attracti-"

"Since when you were the connoisseur of all that's fashionable and clean Billings?" she cut off his rant abruptly, sitting up facing him.

"Since I heard that my lady Katerina had once again taken a vow of poison towards all other humans and had locked herself in her room," he raised his eyebrow mockingly.

"Well this shrew is just fine. She has yet to bite your head off correct?" 

"You can't fight fire with fire," he spat walking across the room.

"Well Petrucio-" she began to lecture, pausing when she noticed him walk to Alliy's side of the room, tearing a blink-182 and Green Day poster off from beside her bed, crumpling it, tossing it to the ground, muttering under his breath the hazards of subjecting one's ears to such garbage. "You yourself are not exactly the most hospitable of sorts."

"Obviously. Why else do you think I'd spend time with you," he winked as he wiped his hands on his black From Autumn to Ashes t-shirt and approached Julie once again.

"Desperate," she shrugged.

"Not as much as yourself, who would rather pine over a lost teammate and possible friendship because of her own bitterness, instead of focusing on the other things life has to offer, such as for one, hygiene," he responded, opening the flap to the small black bag (or purse as the student body had dubbed it) strung across his body with a strap covered in small pins and pulling out a notebook. Julie glared at him in response.

"I knew that would be your first and most basic reaction to the truth, which will soon be followed by a strong urge to beat me to a near pulp. So," he tore a small page of the book folding it in half and tossing it in front of her on the bed. "I thought I'd give you this and be on my way, seeing as I'm not one for violence. Good day my lady," he curtsied; walking out of the room, door slamming behind him as quickly as he had entered.

Furious that her friend had one upped her, in the constant battle for satirical superiority they held, she grabbed the sheet of paper which was floating upon the sea of green, and held it momentarily. With one fluent motion she stood beside her bed and turned around to open the small window. Grinning she tossed the crumbled note out the window which fell two stories into a large evergreen tree which was right out side Billing's own window, in sure sight. Leaving the window ajar, finally realizing the rancid smell of the room, she grabbed a clean towel from Alliy's stack of laundry and made her way to the bathroom.

~*~

Charlie stumbled along the cold damp sidewalk, pulling his lightweight hockey jersey closer to his body, attempting to keep out the chill. His clothes, pipe, hoodie, and all of his other belongs lay back in the apartment building or in his dorm room, making him scowl at his decision to wear the jersey in the first place. His face, kissed moist with perspiration from his emotional outcry and the freezing air pasted his damp curls to his forehead. He fought back tears of frustration, which trickled slowly down his cheeks freezing into tiny crystals, numb with the bite of the air, choking on the knot of aggravation that was lodged in his throat. He had yet to lift his vision from his feet, although he saw nothing. His thoughts and senses had blurred into a singular sense of murky rage. Unable to take in his surroundings, the dim streetlights that illuminated the dank sidewalk and small structures and houses that crammed the block to the occasional passing of a car, he walked obliviously. 

His steps became a mechanical and time became incoherent long before he awoke from his frenzied daze. He stopped abruptly, looking up. A familiar dented street sign stood in front of him, lamely protruding from a patch of leafless sticklike trees, informing him of his location. Lifting his arm, which passed the stages of numbness half an hour ago and was now beginning to burn with pricks of heat, he looked at the face of his cheap digital watch, which read 2:43. For the first time in days a true grin spread across his face, although difficultly for his features seemed to be frozen into place, no longer able to be felt. 'Good,' he whispered to himself, his breath creating a lingering cloud of fog. 'He'll still be up.'

~*~

Connie stood in the petit kitchen, which seemed to radiate with warm colours and smells, creating a comforting atmosphere washing the dinner dishes with Donna.

"Connie dear, you don't have to help me," she told the girl scrubbing the pasta pot. "It's Friday night, go out and have fun."

"Oh it's the least I can do. And I was just planning on staying around here tonight," she shrugged, placing the silverware in the dishwasher. "Maybe watch a movie, sleep, do some homework, just usual relaxing things."

"Well… if you insist," the woman responded, mixed between shock that a teenager wanted to stay home and work on homework on a Friday night and sympathy for she knew she hadn't met anyone yet and was alone. Seeing that the last dishes were put away Connie nervously pulled her hands into the sleeves of her navy blue Roxy hoodie. As she began to walk towards the dark narrow staircase that led to the basement where the guestroom was, she bumped into Chris who was on his way out through the kitchen to his car.  Flustered, he mumbled under his breath and quickly attempted to walk behind his mother to leave.

"Wait, Chris where are you going?" she asked turning to him. 

"Just out with some of the guys, I dunno there might be a party over at Vannatta's, I dunno," he shrugged, towering over his mum.

"Okay, just, why don't you bring Connie with you," she suggested pulling down his coat sleeves which he had pushed up to his elbows. "It'd be nice if you could introduce her to some of the guys," she nudged him. Connie listened attentively; stopping at the door downstairs that was right next to the kitchen. She had planned on calling Guy to pass some of the time, but she couldn't help but think a party sounded much more intriguing. 

"Um… if she wants, that'd be fine," he offered his voice deeper than any of the guys she knew.

"Well Connie do you want to?" Donna asked. She turned around, pulse racing, and palms sweaty in a sense of nervous anticipation.

"Sure, if it's okay with Chris," she replied, attempting to sound slightly indifferent, trying to stifle her excitement. 

"Fine with me," he shrugged.

"Sounds like a plan then."

~*~

**A/N 2-** Once again I leave out high quality Charlie angst that I had planned. Got too caught up in the rest of the subplots. But never fear, I guarantee in the next chapter that it will be a Charlie/Banks focus, and you'll find out where he is. 


	8. Slit Your Throat From Ear to Ear

**A/N**: Jessi here (Sorry!) Some bash slash for the masses and I can dredge up the three tests and the paper I'm supposed to be writing.  I'm such a nerd.  

[Kaila]- I wrote the Adam and Charlie scenes. Hope it doesn't get confusing. And sorry it's not particularly good writing, I'm home sick with the flu. 

**Disclaimer**: Disney owns Mighty ducks, Portman owns Fulton, Andy and Cam are real… and ANDY won't let me borrow his X-men comic books. *grumbles*.  Horace the Giraffe did exist, I swear! 

[Kaila] I must add that the threats belong to the authentic living Andy. No one else.

~*~

Portman traced patterns on the stucco ceiling with his eyes.  _If you squint, that group of poky thingies right there looks like a giraffe… AC/DC still blared over the boom box.  He smirked, thinking of all the pansy preps they were keeping up with their "abominable music taste" as Jeff Burton had so dubbed it.  That twat was the worst; aristocratic ass.  It seemed they got the worst people on their floor.  Then again, they weren't well liked by the general populace at Eden hall.  No one really knew them, they just stared in the halls at their bandannas and black clothing spewing blatant propaganda for bands better than that crap they tended to listen to; for neither he nor Fulton were very accepting in musical tastes.  Besides the Duck clan, who didn't really understand them anyway, they had managed found two other misfits.  _

Portman turned his dark eyes to the lump on the other bed.  He could barely trace the slight rise and fall of Fulton's breathing.  The small window stood open, allowing a cold breeze to fill the room.  Turning on his side to gaze at his sleeping roommate better, he crossed his arms over his bare chest, attempting to shroud his sensitive skin from the biting Minnesota air.  Too lazy to pull the thin sheet around him, he suffered in the cold, eyes never leaving his best friend's back.  

Fulton had forgiven him, he didn't know why, but maybe his roommate understood something about Portman that even he didn't know about himself.  Maybe he found some instability in him, but was still able to forgive.  The Chicagoan had apologized profusely, but he friend would have none of it brushing it off with a "you were shit faced." Somehow when Fulton had mentioned that to him, he felt more remorse.

Andy Kim had called Fulton a self-pitying ass. Affectionately.  Portman still punched him, eventually that ended in a trip to the dean.  He supposed there was some element to Fulton who liked to degrade himself, almost to an art form, but Andy constantly had to stick up for Cam, who would just brush off anything.  Sometimes he coveted their relationship; the best friend hood that knew no cracks or blemishes.  He would never have that with Fulton.  They had taken the black diamond through the ice, whereas Andy and Cam expertly maneuvered together, the bashes always managed to catch edges and hit trees.  Maybe because they had gone too far, the fat dark line they had crossed into no man's land only proved to add rocks and flying projectiles to the mix of a fragile relationship.  Their friends had managed to skirt around the line, together, synchronized.  He heard plenty of talk about the two, but that was what it was, just talk.  When Andy came near, mouths seemed to zip shut. How a barely 5'6" stocky Korean kid managed to intimidate people, he would never know.  Perhaps it was the threats that weren't limited to slitting your throat and tying a plastic bag around your head and hanging you upside down to drown in your own blood. Or as Portman had heard in full, unable to forget the face the blonde basketball player made as Andy recited the threat melodramatically "I'm gonna tie you to the back of my car then drive you around the track several times to initiate turf burn as well as several types of road rash all over your body, then lock you in a furnace room and allow you the bare minimum needs for survival then release you with an incurable infection that's turned many colors and has begun to smell." And that was only in response to the poor kid having made fun of Cam's t-shirt. The kid had this blatant bite that, even to his own 6' 2" muscular hardass ness was… frightening. Such an odd compliment for his friend's tall lanky apathy. Yet where Cam was, Andy wasn't usually far away, maybe it was visa versa but they were mismatched twins, complete with the ESP.  

Fulton had wanted to take a chance and tell the Ducks outright.  He said they would understand, and they had been friends with most of them since kindergarten. Portman wasn't so trusting.  The subject made his brain hurt as it tried to separate the team into categories; so far none of them were in the 'fully support' column, and far to many in the 'probably disgusted' He was no mathematician, but those didn't look like good odds.  Let them have their suspicions, but the team was a good thing to have; to break that up would be stealing the last three and a half years of his life.  

Portman rolled back facing his ceiling, remembering why he didn't think about that.  _I think I'll name the Giraffe, Horace._

*~*~*

Adam groggily rolled over entangled in the mass of flannel sheets and comforter that surrounded him. Yawning he slowly opened his eyes, which after a momentary mass of blurred colour and mystification began to focus. The only light in the dorm came from the blinking neon alarm clock flashing 2:47, which slightly illuminated anything within a 10 foot radius of it.

Not caring for what he saw after seeing his bed still occupied by his hockey bag, not his captain, somehow anticipating that he would be asleep beside him, he shifted his body back into the sea of malleable blankets struggling to work his way back into his dream, slightly disappointed. He knew that the only attempt he had at his deluded fantasy world was confined to his subconscious. 

~*~

Charlie stumbled onto the crisp grass feeling the amicable crunch of new frost being shattered.  The small house in front of him was familiar, from the chipped and cracked paint that hadn't changed since he first met the inhabitants when he was 6, to the old bent-rimmed basketball hoop in the front.  But Charlie disregarded the rest intuitively and walked around to the side, falling into a memorable window-well. He rapped on the gritty glass caked with grime, each knock sending pains like razor blades shooting through his clenched fists. Growing impatient he attempted to look through the filthy glass, shocked when it suddenly slid open, a familiar face and a warm gust of air welcomed him in.

"Conway. Had a feeling you'd stop by soon," a black boy smiled knowingly as though he had planned his arrival, stepping aside letting him jump to the carpeted floor, "Did you walk all the way from your pansy cake-eater school?" he pondered holding out a hoodie in outstretched hands. Charlie readily accepted the sweatshirt, pulling it quickly over his head, tousling his brown curls in an attempt to unfreeze them.  

"Nah Hall, from my mom's," he mumbled flopping out onto a bean bag chair that was scattered aimlessly in a corner. The room had a reassuring scent to it… the indescribable perfume… like the pot his mom had stumbled upon.

"Fight?" the black boy said omnipotently lying on the floor melodramatically, his small body overwhelmed by his baggy corduroys and hoodie.

"Knew you hadn't lost your touch Hall, she found your present," he sighed biting his lip, sinking into the chair, the cold still having un thawed from his bones.

"Ah.  Oh well eventually my mom stopped caring," he said dazed from his relaxed position. "It's not like she's home often enough, working two day jobs and a night shift.  Casey'll stop caring. It's all a matter of perspective, so you smoke a bit of weed, to my knowledge you aren't running around joining gangs, knocking chicks up, etc."  

"I knew that's what you'd say dude…  I guess I can't be as disconnected from reality as you manage to be. But that bitch, she just pisses me off so bad," he growled choppily, unable to continue his thoughts.

"You're still young my friend. Still cutting I presume?" he asked nonchalantly, as his hand scrounged the floor for the glass pipe lying next to him.

"Dude… no… wait… how the hell do you know?" he stuttered, caught off guard by his friend's inevident knowledge.

"Your tone. It's sharp, rageful, illogical, masochistic; you could use a hit bro. You need to let things go, just get in tone with what life is telling you," he revealed, sitting up into a cross legged position, passing his friend the piece and his lighter. "You get the first hit Conway. You need it more than I. "With accepting hands that had regained feeling he readily took the offer.

"Thanks, but do you have any-" he began to ask as he held the mystic translucent rainbow coloured glass to his mouth, flicking the lighter on, the flame dancing inexplicably until hit the bowl where it was distinguished. Sighing he inhaled deeply.

"Booze. I thought you knew me better than that. I don't understand why people choose to drink their uncertainties away into a rut of stupidity and hostility. But yeah, Tyler should be stopping by with some in shortly, unless he gets sidetracked." 

Charlie shook his head, not surprised by his friend's aura of divinity for to his knowledge that's how he'd always been, rather why he was so omnipotent. At first he attributed to the massive amount of weed his friend smoked, beginning in grade 7, but as the boys' friendship advanced he began to realize that his knowledge did not come from a drug induced state, for it was too authentic and poignant. He didn't spew incoherent garbage as he toked up, rather an intense enlightenment and discernment of reality. 

Sighing he took another hit, unable to express his cognations into congruous words. He kept everything bottled and boarded up, not letting the slightest tinge of sentiment out. The only exception was the occasion fits of rage he had on the ice, but no one had yet been able to see through those (besides Jesse of course) shrugging them off as a bad temper that stemmed from hockey. Everything was caked, glued and plastered behind a nauseating veneer of perfection. Just like every other hormone-fueled teenager in existence he spat mentally ashamed that he had fallen to such shambles.

."Talk Conway. Or at least pass me the piece," Jesse's satiric impatience snapped him from his haze of deliberation. "I'm not going to force anything out of you, it will come in time, but do remember you can't hide much from me." The brunette nodded groggily, handing the pipe to his friend in response, still unable to string together a single utterance. 

"You're exhausted. Physically and psychologically. And due to my overwhelming sense of generosity I'll allow you to crash here for the night. Seeing as it's 3 in the morning and you have no where else to go," Jesse chuckled to himself, still very much awake. "Only G-d knows that you need it."

Cracking a smile of thanks, Charlie snuggled deeply into the worn bean bag, eyes falling shut, finally able to forget the fact he'd have to go back to Eden Hall and his mom's, and face it all again. But that was the future, he was in the present, he contemplated as he drifted off to sleep. 


	9. Rocky Mountain Sunsets

**Author's Note** [Kaila] Let's give Jessi mad props for writing the Ken part. I went through and added occasional details about the characters, but all the credit shall be directed in her general direction. I have this thing about description. Sorry it's been so long since we've updated. I've been out boarding and playing roller hockey, Jes has been doing homework… Enough said. And if there's any religious people out there, could you perhaps add a good friend of mine, Cub, to your prayers? He's in a tight situation and needs all the help he can get. Onward!

**Disclaimer-** If Disney doesn't own them, we don't either, for they probably belong to themselves. CP's (Cubby Prodigies), my group of friends, have rights to Wendy's nights. Sue and I won't give you my new shaft. Too bad.

~*~

Ken Wu sighed as he flipped through We looking for the quote about the yellow room.  '_Dammit' he thought, futilely re-flipping through the book.  The page in front of him was scratched with the scrawl of black ink.   _

"Kenny Wu, what the hell are you doing?" A tall, sturdy brunette interjected his thoughts.  Jordan McChesney wasn't that bad of a roommate, just never really around unless he was playing music and talking to people online. From what he heard Jordan was a bit of a lady's man. He supposed he was good looking, mind you that was if Ken was a female. He had thick dark brown hair that fell moppily into his deep chocolate eyes. He was tall and verging on muscular, but not toned. When he wasn't hanging off anything with two X chromosomes he was kayaking, skiing or rock climbing (he and his group of friends liked to make long road trips east to the decent garbage hills, wait mountains, which may have explained his grades), definitely not doing anything the least bit studious. He was the only senior Ken knew that had 4 credits out of a necessary 25 to graduate. He'd definitely be a great super-super-super senior. The only thing that really bothered him about Jordan was that he still called him Kenny, just like everyone else he knew, for Christ's sake he was eighteen in a month.

"I'm writing my essay for English class," he sighed leaning back into the plush of his rolling chair.

"But, but-" he spluttered in shock, "its _Friday."_

"So? That leaves tomorrow and Sunday to have fun," Ken responded monotonously, not taking his eyes up from the novel. 

"No, that leaves tomorrow to do more work and Sunday to do more because everyone else is doing theirs," he plucked the reddish paperback out of the Asian's hand, "We? Who name's their book We?"

"Obviously the Russian dude who wrote it."

"Whatever dude, Alliy, Linds, Jeromy, me and some other friends are going out to Wendy's, wanna come with?" he offered.

"Naw I want to finish my essay, maybe next time."

"You're missing out on quality fries for school.  Take a break sometime k?" 

"Sure," he responded in the same melodramatic tone. Jordan gazed at him, confused yet not surprised with his roommate's studious tendencies, and then quickly around the contrasting room before turning around. 

He heard the door shut behind Jordan 

_…In the novel We, by Yevgeny Zamyatin, the freedom D-503 comes to enjoy is symbolized in several ways..._

The door opened again.

"Kenneth Jun Wu, don't make me tear up what goddamn homework your doing," a females voice threatened satirically.

"Hallie," he acknowledged still scribbling on the lined paper, knowing the raven-haired girl was standing above his desk.

"Wu, I'm taking you to a place you've never gone before.  It might be scary for you being outside of the school, but it's good for you.  Have you ever heard of a place called the Movie Theatre?" she babied taking his arm and attempting to pull him out of his chair snapping her friend from his trance.

"What movie?" he asked the wife beater clad girl.

"Dunno, if there isn't anything good we'll figure something else out."

"What's the point of futilely going to the movie theatres?" he groaned in response.

"Fun, Wu, sometimes I wonder about your Asianness.  I think it has to be some kind of defect," she rolled her crystal blue eyes.

"Racist," he grinned.

"Duh.  You are below me slave.  Come _on!"_

He followed her out his door, the book abandoned on the paper littered desk.

~*~

Connie sat nervously picking at the chipped lavender polish that adorned her fingernails. The only sounds that filled the old 92' black Cadillac were the soft tones of REM's 'Losing My Religion' that came fuzzily through the small radio, and the typical echoes and hums that came from vehicles speeding down the highway. She glanced quickly over at Chris, palms sweaty with anticipation and a sense of timid ness. His eyes were fixated unnaturally on the road.

"Um, sorry but where are we going again?" she finally was able to softly speak up, her voice cracking.

"Oh, Overbey's having some people over, mostly hockey guys, some of them might bring some chicks, I don't think anyone will crash it, we're usually low key guys," he shrugged, biting his lip.

"Awesome," she mumbled trying to start a conversation in an attempt to break the thick and smothering tense silence.  "Where does he live?"

"Littleton, over near Columbine and Chatfield."

"Oh…" her voice faded as her eyes drifted away from Chris's tense form to out the dirt-encrusted window, as they drove towards the sun setting behind the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. Pink and orange bursts flooded the azure sky and reflected off the wispy clouds that sat perched on the snowy peaks. The brilliant display of light and colour quickly faded and danced behind the mountains a sliver of gold light escaped and illuminated the now cobalt sky. The sunsets in Minnesota weren't this stunning, she thought silently to herself. Her astonishment erased all the doubts she had of going to the party, her bashfulness of driving across town alone with Chris and made her oblivious to the still deafening silence in the car. 

~*~

**Author's Note 2**- Sorry this is short and poorly written. I had to do my friend's Bio as I wrote this, namely because they wrote a couple Lit papers for me. The gives and takes of relationships. Anyway this story doesn't have a set plot, or set structure. It's more or less a documentation of the kids' grade 12 year. There's slash, suicide, love triangles, pranks, school stress, drugs, the whole nine yards and the basic story of the life of any 17-18 year old high school student. Sorry if that makes it confusing I know because most of the chapters have all occurred on this same Friday night and we flood in and out of ideas. Thanks for putting up with us. 


	10. Vannatta Ball

**Author's Note**- I didn't even have to harass Jessi like I usually do for her to write the following Bash/Adam scenes. :cheers: The little piece of filler at the end is more or less what I did tonight with some guys from an old team… :thinks: I'm too dehydrated and been beat in the head with a broom too many times to really think clearly. Oh yes… I was reading others fics and stumbled across this problem with OCs. I don't know who they are. I know the OCs I use play a minimal role in the fic, they're side characters who are friends and/or roommates with the Ducks, for reality's sake, but I suppose it can still get confusing. **_So if you'd like me to make a separate short list explaining who and what the OCs are, descriptions, personalities, which Ducks they interact with, I can do that, just let me know._**

****

And one more thing. Sorry to use this as ranting grounds, but if you write a fic and aren't American and/or don't play hockey, please attempt to use proper terminology. I'll even beta for you if you need it. I'm Canadian but don't have the Ducks running around saying mum and talking about their percentages instead of GPAs and going to formal instead of prom. Maybe it's because I live in the states right now and am aware of the differences, it just irks me when we have Minnesotans going to balls and the cinema. And hockey terminology? Even worse. For the first and last time. An enforcer is not a hockey position. It's a nickname given to goons on the team (mostly defenders) who sometimes have the job of watching out for the smaller players, especially the ones who tend to get hammered frequently. No hard feelings though and my offer for betaing is still up. There's nothing wrong with not knowing the right words or phrases or ideas, just please make an attempt! Just e-mail me. 

And just for the sake of making this note longer, I was notified by e-mail that 'Handbook for the Sellout' is up for the Best Angst fic. So if you too enjoy this, you can nominate us here, , and then eventually vote. That is all.

**Disclaimer-** :yawns: If you don't understand this by now you deserve to be shot. Ducks are property of Disney, Charlie sleeps next to (or with) me, OCs belong to themselves (they're real people) and Vannatta Ball belongs to none other than the Vannatta brothers, my brother and myself. 

~*~

Fulton stirred as the bed shifted.

"G'way, it's Sat-mmpph." Soft lips, he knew well, cut him off.  Fulton melted into the kiss, not worrying about morning breath or the fact that he was just wearing boxers (not that _he_ hadn't seen more than that) Portman's tongue possessively took control of his mouth pressing and twisting. 

Dean smiled at the small noise his roommate made in the back of his throat, a cross between a purr and a groan.  Pushing the long dark, somewhat ratty, hair away, he moved from his mouth (with a protest from Fulton) to the place where his ear met his jaw.  Trailing kisses down his jaw line, to his neck, he worked his hands to the waistband of Fulton's ducky boxers.  

"Hi."  He smiled stopping for a second to look at his panting roommate.

"Shut up." His bash brother growled flipping them so he was on top.  Portman laughed, dark eyes carrying that glint that made Fulton practically orgasm.

"Feisty today are we?" he managed before… _Good G-d where the hell did he learn that?_

"Holy Shit!" the Chicagoan gasped.

"Like that?" he grinned maniacally.

"Oh Fuck, do that again and the whole floor will think someone's fucking in here."

"Someone IS fucking in here."

"Right."  Abruptly pulling Fulton up to face level, he dug his hands into his stringy hair and kissed him. Hard.  Who cares if they came out of it with bruised lips?

***

Adam blinked to the too bright room, and large, probably fake boobs directly above his eyes on the ceiling.  It was 9:37.

"G-d, why does Orion make practice on Saturday mornings?" he groaned realizing Conway wasn't in the room.

'Shit.  Charlie's gonna get busted by coach if he doesn't show up, but Casey'll probably drive him down.'

Rolling out of his roommate's bed, Adam went searching through the piles of junk for his tennis shoes.  

Grabbing his bag he walked out, slightly disappointed at the empty room.  'I hope Julie's less pissy than last night.'

The halls were quiet and deserted.  Making his way to the stairwell he winced at the loud echo-y click, as he pounded his way down the concrete stairs, dirty trainers boomed louder than the door.  He hesitated at the second floor.  'Might as well save a trip back.' He shrugged to himself.  Setting his bag down next to the door, he walked down the hall, it's carpet, and walls were the exact same as the fourth.  Instinctively he walked up to a familiar door with the words "Bash Brothrs." etched onto the door (a remnant from a drunken night).  Knowing they never locked their door, he walked in saying, "Hey Fult, Port, we have prac- WHAT THE FUCK?!"  He stared disbelievingly at the bash brothers.

Portman whirled around to the door falling off of Fulton's bed. 

"Shit." He groaned from the floor.  Fulton just stared wide-eyed and messy haired at Adam.

~*~

Guy stumbled groggily into the locker room, bag propped ineptly on his back swaying awkwardly with every step. Collapsing onto the bench he hazily remembered the events of last night. He spent seven hours on the couch in the commons, gazing unconsciously at the horror movie marathon that was being played, hand wrapped tightly around his cell phone waiting for Connie to call as she had promised.

For the infinite hours he sat clutching the phone anxious for her response. As the clock that was mounted on the back wall rolled around to nine he thought that the family she was staying with may eat late. Around eleven, he repeated to himself that they had gone out. As the hours' hand hit one and the room was mostly deserted, leaving him alone, he justified her silence, saying she must have not been feeling well, altitude sickness or something, and had gone to bed. Finally at two one of the staff who had been unlucky enough to been stuck with weekend duty, pried him from his cocoon on the couch in front of the blank TV screen and forced him up to his dorm. 

He spent the next three hours laying on his bed, gawking aimlessly at the pictures of him and the brunette next to his bed, oblivious to Ian, his roommate's pleas of "obsessive co-dependant bitch" when he stumbled in around 2:30. He stopped watching the clock at 4:47, and must have drifted off into a restless slumber shortly after. All in all it had not been a good night. 

He put his pads on monotonously, eyes bloodshot and dazed over. His fingers shakily pulled on his equipment picked at his laces numbly. He'd passed logic many hours ago, passed the questioning of his own stability as a man. All he could do was wonder what Connie was up to.

If he had been less sleep deprived and in question of why his girlfriend hadn't called, he may have noticed Portman and Fulton's gawky movements with one another and their silence, which was so unlike their usual locker room antics. Or perhaps he would have caught on to the looks of utter disgust Adam kept shooting them from across the room, but not for too long before he'd turn away nauseated. Or if he had another hour of sleep he may have been aware that Charlie wasn't in the locker room and never ended up showing up at practice at all.00

But he didn't. 

He had only one thing on his mind, far from practice, far from Orion's lecture and far from his teammates.

~*~

The group of six congregated down a secluded hallway a short distance away from the Dining Hall, full of students scarfing down lunch. Clad in a disarray of hockey equipment, some with jocks some with helmets and some with mismatched gloves and shin pads, they all held either a broom or a field hockey stick. An impish aura clouded the silence, adding to the tension that something was about to unravel. Or as some would say, shit was about to hit the fan.

A shorter squat figure masked by a red hockey helmet and who donned only two gloves holding a broom cleared his throat.

"Sons of Eden Hall," he announced in a crisp whisper. "I see a whole army of my schoolmates, here in defiance of tyran-" 

"Dude, there's only ten of us," he was interupted by a short figure who wore a helmet and a jock strap over his baggy cargos. The red helmeted figured continued without looking in his direction or acknowledging his comment. 

"You've come to fight and play as free men, and free men you are. What will you do without freedom?! Will you fight?!"

"Sure," the general consensus mumbled apathetically, except for a tall lanky figure who stood at the back sniggering.

"Thanks Wallace," he chuckled voice rich and drawling. The red helmeted figure glared in his direction, silencing the stifled laughter, giving him a more serious demeanor. "But why are we fighting? Against that? No. We will run and we will live," he shrugged melodramatically swinging his field hockey stick.

"Aye you hick," he growled firmly in response. "Fight, and you may die. Run, and you'll live. At least awhile. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just ONE chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take OUR FREEDOM!" ending on the powerful chord he turned holding his broom high above his head, a tennis ball in his other hand and charged towards the dining hall, his group following with as much of a deafening roar that six teens could make.

~*~

Julie shoved a spoonful of what appeared to be mac and cheese into her mouth.

"How can you eat that regurgitated plastic?" Billings spat, rolling his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, needing not to say anything but to glare at him. "Fine," he shrugged biting into an apple. "But when you die of clogged arteries at age 19, don't come crying to me."

"Oh rest assured, I won't," she snapped, eyes gazing around the dining hall that in all honesty was a fancy name for cafeteria. Her and Nick were at their usual corner near the door, far from the ruckus and socialization of the other students.

"So anyway, how what schools have you sen-" the brunette fell silent in mid-word as screams erupted from the centre of the room. A group of guys in hockey equipment carrying what appeared to be field hockey sticks and brooms had charged to the first table in what appeared to be a mutated mixture of an invasion and a new form of floor hockey. In a sundry form of shock and amusement he watched never the less intrigued as a short and stocky hockey equipment clad figure slid across the long lunch table overturning salads and flipping plates of mac and cheese and spilling sodas with a broom. When he reached the end of the table and the group of students now covered in their lunches had sprung up shrieking and sprinted out of the room, he turned around getting into a goalie stance. A taller unknown came charging at him across the table carrying a tennis ball with a field hockey stick. As he wound up to take a shot, another person came running at full speed, slide tackling him at the knees taking him out into the muddle of lunches. Another guy with a broom had taken possession of the ball, hopped off the table and attempted to take a shot at the stocky player, missing. Apparently upset with the outcome he sprinted towards what must have been the goalie, jumping on his back, attempting to bring him to the ground. 

More students had begun to flee to room as more "players" of the strange game darted in.  What erupted was a chaotic mixture of a food fight and a hockey game. The participants who had charged the lunchroom appeared to have gotten hands on brooms and field hockey sticks and attempted to use the entire lunchroom for their no rules court. As the frenzied atmosphere spread, everyone decided to run screaming from the room, as though instead of sticks the masked perpetrators held guns. While at the same time the fleeing crowd had to fight through the unorganized game of full contact "hockey" and overturned lunches. As the mass of students had finally cleared out, the group that had started the ruckus followed suit, grabbing their ball and sticks and following the mob, to continue their game elsewhere. 

Nick finally turned his head back around facing Julie who had apparently been devoid of what had happened, taking her last bite of food.

"Scripps and Stanford," she replied without question of what had just occurred. "Far, far away from here." 

~*~

**Author's Note 2**- If that didn't make sense I understand. I played 6 hours of roller today and am slightly out of it. I reworked it from what I originally sent to Jessi because she couldn't decipher any sense out of it. I hope it flows better and makes more sense but I can't find a good beta at midnight. If demanded I'll include an explanation of what happened next time. 


	11. Drunken Stupour

**Author's Note-** [Kaila] I've been having angst withdrawals myself. Do hope this clears some of it up. Really I have nothing substantial to say. Except hooray for those who understood the cafeteria scene and an apology that this isn't in complete chronological order. It flips from Saturday afternoon in Minnesota to Friday night in Colorado and such. Bear with me. 

**Disclaimer-** Any discrepancies can be forwarded to my lawyer the Mr. Johnny Cochran. Just messing… Disney gets dibs on the Ducks, OCs belong not to be but themselves and anything else mentioned? Probably not mine.

~*~

[Padfoots-Pirate] Even if you have no idea who the Mighty Ducks are I'm glad you're reading this Kaitlin ;-) And I do have a certain degree of attraction to Joshua Jackson. I have since I was 5 :-D

[NYGoldfish94] Thanks kiddo. The title actually comes from a Five Iron Frenzy song, which is one of my favourite bands. And don't worry the plot is getting even thicker in this crazy and vague Connie-Chris-Guy love triangle I've begun.

[C-chan96] I understand your pain. I'm longing for Charlie angst myself, and I'm writing this story (with Jessi of course). But I only want to write what I think will be the highest quality Spazway abuse. I have to be in the right mood and have a pre-formulated idea of what I'm going to do to him first. His angst is my pride and joy of this fic.

[KShyne99] I'm definitely a fan of angsty Ducks. It drives me up the wall when they're Disney-esque. Sorry I had to make Jesse a pothead. Yet I adore the idea of him as an eccentric enigma who has insight through the wonderful world of marijuana. Don't worry too much though, he's not your run of the mill druggie, he's much more. And I really should call Jessi and interrogate her on who she envisions Ken's friend to be. In all honesty, I'm not sure yet.

[Crazy4nc128] Never fear, there will be more Adam angst, in all his confused, homophobic yet homosexual ness. And my boyfriend waves back :-D He's a friendly guy. And thanks for the get well wish. 

[plainjane] From one Coloradoan to another, thanks for your faithful reviews. I'm glad someone understood what I attempted and failed to write as far as the cafeteria scene. Good luck up in Ft. Collins with the pizza job ;-)

[shadowblood] Why thank you m'dear.

[BeckyLovesPortman] Our gratitude is extended. :Blushes with the compliment of being called talented in angst writing: Thank you.

[Banks99] Roller hockey is the shit. Any weekend with decent weather I'm out for an average of 6 or so hours, and when I get the chance I go out after school. It's no ice hockey, but it'll suffice for now. Thanks for making sense of that :-D

~*~

The lulling sounds of Alkaline Trio's "Emma" and the dim lighting caressed the melodramatic group that lounged around the room. Connie sat sinking into a corner of a worn black leather couch that lined the back wall, watching. The atmosphere was casual, and she observed a group of guys around her age debating about the Avs' weak season, a tall, lanky blonde seemingly attacking a bowl full of Doritos and a short brunette in the corner adjacent to her attempting to suck the tonsils out of an even more petite redhead. 

When they arrived Chris had politely introduced her to Scott, the small forthright brunette that was the host. She couldn't bring herself to talk to anyone else out of sheer timidity. Back in Minnesota she was viewed as outspoken and bold, mostly because she had spent her whole life with the same core group. Here, away from those people, surrounded by no one she knew, she became reserved and drew back into a shell, conscious of how others would perceive her as. 

Suddenly her weight shifted up, as someone had sat down beside her. She turned her head, looking straight into Chris's chin. 

"Um, Connie, how are you?" he asked in a typically male manner, taking a sip from a beer bottle.

"Eh, pretty good," she shrugged eying the brown glass. She didn't have a problem with drinking, she just didn't herself. She knew of about 5 or 6 regular "casual" drinkers from the team but between playing hockey and school she hadn't had much time nor passion to develop a taste for the poison. She'd had wine at church with her parents and at formal dinners, her only casual drink being one time at Julie's, the summer after freshman year where the girls had attempted to make margaritas yet failed terribly, adding what tasted like three times too much tequila. She'd been sick the rest of the weekend. 

"Um would you like something to drink?" he offered noting the girls prolonged glare at his bottle.

Connie paused. She wasn't one to be susceptible to peer pressure, was she? She asked quickly questioned herself. Not that she could count the boy's offer as pressure, it bordered more along the lines of courtesy. 

"Sure," she responded, attempting to hold a relaxed air in her tone. 

~*~

Adam apathetically stumbled into his room, bag trailing meekly behind him. 

"Hey Cake-Eater," an energetic voice greeted from the far desk engulfed in piles of paper, food wrappers and clothes.

"Conway?" Adam asked in dazed shock.

"No it's the Tooth Fairy," the brunette rolled his eyes. "Who just happens to be your roommate. They got sick of the Charlie kid and kicked him out on his ass. Why so surprised?" he shrugged, pulling his headphones off his ears.

"Why didn't you show at practice, Orion flipped a bitch when you didn't show," the blonde shrugged tossing his bag next to his bed, not having the energy to air out the sweat-saturated equipment inside. 

Charlie paused, remembering the short hours ago when he awoke, not knowing where he was. As his vision slowly came into focus he had realized he was in Hall's basement, missing one major component, Hall. On the floor in front of the beanbag where he had restlessly slept, were an old sweatshirt and 2 bus tokens. Enough to get him back across town to Eden Hall. That was Jesse for you…

"Eh, my mom wasn't feeling too hot, musta been the flu or something, when I got home last night. I had to help her around the house and run some errands for her last night and this morning. Felt bad I couldn't get back in time," he shrugged pulling at the sleeves of the tattered gray hoodie he wore. He felt the icy blue eyes glaze his figure, knowing they were attempting to decide whether he was honest or just bullshitting his friend. Adam had gotten to know Charlie well enough over the last few years to figure out if he were being truthful or not. Charlie kept a straight face, attempting not to let his mind wander back to his mom or the night spent toking up with Jesse. Finally the blonde sighed, the inspection over.

"Well I hope she feels better," he smiled weakly. "But I'm going to go take a shower, practice was a bitch today. Conditioning mostly laps and sprints."

"Shame I missed it then eh? But yeah you better go, before I pass out or something," the captain teased light heartedly.

"Yeah sure," Adam mumbled, grabbing a towel, his face pasted with the veneer of a small smile. 

As soon as Charlie heard the slam of the door, he put his headphones back on his ears and leaned back clenching his eyes shut.

'I'm loosing my sight, loosing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I'm fine…" 

~*~

"Connie you're hilarious," the brunette with frosted tip chuckled. She grinned in response, having what was it… 3, no 5, maybe 8, or however many beers under her belt, made her feel more self-assured. In all honesty, she hadn't felt this social in… forever to her knowledge. 

"Hey, Nick, does… Chris have a girlfriend?" she slurred, looking over to where he stood talking to a tall gangly red head.

"Uh, nah. Miller was never one for the ladies. But he's packing quite a punch if you know what I mean," he laughed, chugging the rest of his bottle, tossing it to the side. "Why does a pretty girl like you ask?"

"Cause he's a pretty boy," she giggled.

"Hey, Chris!" he yelled, from his position on the floor.

"No Nick," Connie tried to interrupt him, while at the same time fighting back hilarious laughter.

"Constance over here wants you to bone her," he shouted. The red head who was apparently sober shook his head sniggering.  

"Niiiiccck," she blushed, as Chris glanced wide-eyed in shock next to her. "That's not true Chris," she pleaded, brushing a lock of long chestnut hair out of her eyes.

Before Chris had a chance to answer, the lights came on prompting groans and boos from the numerous drunken partygoers and the sounds of Rise Against had been cut short.

"Sorry kids, I just got a call from my parentals. Something about a change of plans, they're leaving Boulder right now and should get here in about 30 minutes. That means clear out, go home, party's over," Scott announced from a table in the middle of the room.

Chris turned to Connie who was still draped on the couch.

"Guess that means it's time to roll out. You okay to come?" he asked, apparently able to hold his liquor well, for every time Connie received a drink, he had grabbed himself a bottle as well. Connie nodded shooting him the thumbs up sign. 

"Well Constance Mer-ooo of Minnesota, nice to talk to you," Nick grinned slap happily, as the red head grabbed his hand.

"You're catching a ride home with me tonight Vannatta," he groaned rolling his eyes pulling him off the floor and towards the front door with the stream of people.

"Bye Nick," she squealed in a singsong tone, waving energetically at him. "Okay, Chris, let's go."

~*~

"Thanks for bringing me," she grinned sweetly as the car started to roll away down the suburban street.

"No problem dude," he shrugged, a few drinks seeming to be the key to breaking his shell of silence. "Glad you enjoyed yourself."

Connie gazed out the window again, the pitch black sky littered with hazes of lights and roads lined with houses and cars all seemed to blur together, creating a streak of endless light. She quickly turned her head, staring at Chris.

"You do know… what, um Nick said, yeah, was…" she stuttered unable to complete her thought, her body seemingly molded into the velvety fabric of the seat.

"True?" he asked raising an eyebrow with an expression of mock interest.

"Well um… yes," she mumbled, her words sticky with hesitation as she twirled her fingers through her hair. Chris chuckled in response.

"Yea right, like some chick would ever want me, Chris Miller the Canadian dumbass prude," he rolled his eyes, swerving aimlessly down the road.

"I bet you're not prude," she grinned devilishly, her inhibitions altered.

"I'm not… prude. Just sorta… I dunno shy? And picky?" he shrugged, seemingly unaware of where the conversation was leading. "I'm not some fucking Mormon or some shit."

"I know," she purred taking off her sweatshirt, which prompted the driver to burst into laughter, swerving in front of an Explorer.

"You're gonna kill us!" she shrieked in sarcasm. 

"Eh I'm sober," he responded pulling a sharp left onto a small side street initiating more horns being blasted. Oblivious to his numerous traffic violations, he flipped the volume button of the radio, the car now blasting with the sounds of the Toadies.

"Yes'm, wait, PULL OVER" she screeched trying to contain her laughter. Chris bolted to a haulting stop along a now desolate empty road.

"What, did I hit something?" his eyes widened. Connie shook her head viciously, leaning across the console and forcing her tongue into his mouth.  


	12. The Day After

**Author's Note- **[Kaila] This is being written instead of a subjective essay on the Scarlet Letter that I'm supposed to be writing because my teacher thought it was garbage, that was due 2 weeks ago. Feel lucky. Sorry I've focused mostly on Adam, Charlie and Connie. I haven't had much motivation for anything else. All suggestions are appreciated. Just added, Jessi finished the Connie scene and wrote the Ken part. Holler.

One request. If you are to review this chapter, say one "negative" thing. I don't want a single "Good job" (even though I'd like to thank everyone who has said that). You don't have to be a dick about it, but something that needs to be worked on or doesn't fit or isn't written well. If you don't like the way a character is written feel free to express your opinion. It will be an immense help. Thanks :-D

Disclaimer- The Pop Tart line belongs to Stan and Cartman from South Park. Ducks go to Disney, OCs go to themselves, and if you beg differ on anything and wish to sue? Good. I'll make you write my essay. 

~*~

The scalding water cascaded down his pale skin, filling the white tiled room with thick clouds of steam. Adam made not an effort to shampoo his hair or to lather his body. He was too disillusioned. Images ran through his mind, fresh and viable as though they were being played out in front of him. The sweat saturated bodies of his teammates, naked and passionate, together, groping and thrusting. By this point in time he wasn't sure if had really seen anything or if it had been an unconscious nightmare due to his lack of sleep. 

Yet he couldn't help but egg on the pictures, as though he subconscious yearned to see one Bash Brother boning the other. But he knew he wasn't a queer fudge packer like Port and Fult, he shuddered as he considered the thought.

He didn't like the porn above Charlie's bed… because it was so phony. The ballooned, flawless breasts, the provocative poses, the unreal amounts of airbrushing and makeup. He didn't date girls because the ones running around Eden Hall were mindless whores who couldn't differentiate between a pop tart and the rainforest, even if the pop tart had sprinkles. With the null selection and the hours he put in devotedly for his studies and hockey, he didn't have the time to invest in such utter stupidity either. 

And most of all he didn't like Charlie Conway. He didn't adore the power and passion he put into the game, the grace he had on the ice. He despised how laid back yet headstrong his roommate was. His charisma that enabled him to befriend everyone, and how everyone put him on a pedestal of sorts. The mysterious aura that engulfed number 96, the enigma that he was. He was disgusted by his subtle sarcasm that never ceased to amuse him. When he'd strip down to boxers in the locker room or for bed, the mere sight of his muscular yet scrawny frame made him want to vomit. His thick brown hair that fell carelessly into his deep eyes that always seemed to twinkle made him sick. 

He, Adam Banks, was not a fag. 

~*~

The screeching of her phone awoke the girl, her vision spotted and blurred, head pounding repeatedly and stomach churning. Moaning she had scrounged for the ringing that seemed to pick away at sections of her brain, finally grabbing the phone. It was Guy calling and it was 4:35 in Minnesota. Struggling to keep whatever contents of her stomach where they were she rolled softly onto her back, chucking the phone in the direction of the staircase, clenching her eyes shut. The small amount of sunlight that filtered into the basement shattered her head in half, the ringing only agitating it.

Roughly she took her pillow pushing it over her head, hoping to ease some of her agony. What the hell she had done last night, she didn't know. All she was aware of was the hell she was undergoing now, making her vow to herself once she remembered what happened, she'd never even contemplate doing it again. 

As she took slow deep breaths ignoring the stinging pains in her head, back and thighs, she tried to remember what she was doing today. It was a Saturday, 3:30… and she had her first practice with the select at 4:15.

She darted out of bed, noticing she was still clothed from last night, grabbed her bag and stumbled half hazardly up the stairs and burst into the kitchen where Donna was at the stove humming to herself while stirring a pot of something that smelt like beef stew that sent pangs of nausea to her stomach.

Chris wasn't home so she was forced to bum a ride over to the arena with Donna who was more than happy to drive her. She inquired into Connie's disheveled state such as the dark puffy circles that seemed to engulf her dark eyes, which were now hidden by bloodshot rouge. The first excuse that came to her mind, altitude sickness plus a bit of an allergic reaction to the tomatoes in the sauce from dinner that had kept her up. Overused and cliché, yes, plus it was a straight out lie, but it worked.

The next half hour wasn't as bad as she had expected. She in a surge of sheer luck was able to comprehend the dry erase board in the rink lobby and locate the locker room her new team was in and shuffle in.  

Girls in various state of dress stared as she came in. Dark hair ratted in tangles, skin pale with pain.  As she sat down in a corner that looked like it wasn't being used, a short stocky blonde asked, "Are you lost?"

"No," she frowned, "Connie, Connie… eh Moreau." 

"You're our new player?" she asked incredulously.  Connie just stared up, stupidly, at her from her seat into the too bright fluorescent lights.  

"God she looks like a junkie," a mutter from the other side of the room cut through the ringing of her ears.  Pointedly shifting her gaze to the accuser, she waited until the girl turned away before she pulled off her shirt throwing it near her bag.

_ I wish Julie and Guy were here. _

*~*~*

Kenny Wu watched Jordan pull on his shoes and finger his hair from the doorway as he approached his dorm fresh from practice.

"There's a chick in your bed, dude.  I'm going out, see ya."  The taller Caucasian kid brushed past him in the doorway.  Ken looked over to the bed and underneath the blanket; he noticed a lump of person.  Shaking his head he dropped his bag and jumped onto his bed, twisting so he landed face up next to the lump.  

"Hi Hallie," he chuckled, the semi conscious girl groaned at the jolt.

"Hi," she croaked, sleep still in her voice.

"Had a good sleep?"

"No, McChesney turned on a fucking radio at noon. Blaring fucking Insyders. Too loud, too happy."

"Did you throw something?"  he smirked.

"No, too much effort.  Too tired, can't talk more." She rolled over, back to him.  He watched the back of her dark head for a minute.

"Why don't you just complain about your roommate?" Ken asked.

"Because the next person who becomes her victim might not have a friend like you to share their bed with."

"You just like sleeping next to me."

"Wu, shut up and let me sleep."

"You do know it's 1 in the afternoon."

"It's Saturday," she pleaded rolling back to face him.

"Fine.  Go to sleep Hallie."

"Thanks Wu, At least I know you won't be starting your homework until later."

"Mmhmm." He mumbled through closed lids.  She smiled at her friend and closed her eyes, moving closer to him on the narrow bed.


	13. Anger Managment

**Author's Note- **We're back… All the wonderful Bash Slash is courtesy of Jessica. I can barely right any of the story, let alone an Author's Note. So I'll spare you all… 

Disclaimer- Cam and Andy are my two friends Jessi thinks are gay lovers. As do I… but never the less, they definitely belong to themselves. Anyway you know the deal. Oh yes, harsh language. Homophobia. Don't read if you don't like reality. 

~*~

"Fuck," Portman groaned banging his dark head against the wall next to his bed. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Each curse emphasized with another bang.

"I didn't think… I thought…" Fulton drawled, having had gone into some sort of shock. He had such happy ideals of the Ducks; that no matter what they would always stick together. Until he had seen Bank's reaction.

"Maybe… it was just shock?" he offered weakly to Portman.

"No dude. I saw that look. It was a 'Die faggot while I go vomit, I am a holier than thou Christian right winger, repent and rid my presence of that filthy immorality."

"But isn't he, ya know… with Charlie?"

"Maybe, goddamn hypocrite."

The door banged open, deepening the dent of the doorknob into the wall.

"Hello my bashes," Andy swaggered in. 

"Where's Cam?" Fulton asked when the pale silent kid didn't appeared behind the stock Asian. 

"He's with his fucking girlfriend," Andy spat with a scowl coming over his face. "He doesn't have the time for me anymore. It's all about Laura. 'I think I'm in love, she's so perfect, blah blah blah.' High school relationshit. Never works out," he growled sprawling out on his back on the small floor space between the beds. 

Fulton looked fearfully at Portman who deucedly glanced away. Andy oblivious to the awkwardness continued ranting. "He didn't even care when the new X-Men comic came out. He was seeing a fucking chick click with Laaauuurrraa. Wolverine would have kicked his shitty hairy ass if Wolverine were real," he paused slightly as though lost in the thought of his comic book hero alive. As quickly as he started zoning off he was back. "But anyway, how the hell did he find a girlfriend in this dump anyway? Musta been sneaking out, damn bastard. I  ha-" a phone rang. Expectantly Fulton and Portman looked at Andy who extracted his cell phone.

"Cam?" Fulton realized that despite the scowl on his face, his small eyes lit up. Getting up off the floor Andy left the room with a glance back.

The awkwardness settled back over the pair, if only for a short while.

The door banged open for a second time, this time the one face they dreaded the most appeared. 

"Uh, hey Banks," Portman tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace.

"Don't talk to me you fag. I'm not down here to congratulate you guys. You're just- sick. Fuck. I don't know if I can share a locker room with you. What if you decide to start playing 'prison' like you were this morning? That was disgusting, fucking sick. You guys are barbarians that can't distinguish between right and wrong. I can't stand you guys."

"Adam…" Fulton tried to plead.

"Don't address me you fudge packing queer"

He found himself gasping for breath against the wall, Portman's hands holding him six inches off the ground.

"Fuck you Banks," he hissed. "Don't call Fulton that or I'll rape your pansy ass… if I can keep it up looking at you. You have no fucking right to storm in and degrade us. I've seen the way you gaze longingly at our captain. You worship him, you'd gladly blow him, become his lap dog, you fuck toy bitch. 

"Just like Fulton," Adam sneered. "I'm not some homo fag. My asshole hasn't been enlarged."

"Fuck you." Portman hissed punching Adam and shoving him out into the hall. Turning back to Fulton, Dean's heart froze. Fulton Reed had gone pale, his eyes didn't focus and his breaths were taking in short gasps.

"Fult- you okay man?"

"Am I your bitch? he asked quietly.

"No!" Dean retorted vehiminently. "You're not my bitch, you're not anyone's bitch. I like you dude. I like you a lot."

Fulton Reed smiled warily. "I do too," under his breath he added, "I may even love you." Already past the conversation, Portman didn't hear Reed's last words. 

~*~

Connie ran her hand through her straight brown hair, not able to feel anything but the nauseous feeling that sank deep into her stomach. She had just finished another week in Colorado, which had involved another couple hockey practices, her teammates beginning to warm up to her and include the new girl, five days of classes for her second semester of senior year at Smoky Hill, which was still awkward seeing as the school was so large, no one noticed her presence, and seven even more awkward days with Chris and Donna.

She had never quite figured out the occurrences of that Friday night, nor was she sure she wanted to. She didn't have enough time to analyze the after effects before being thrust onto the ice for an intense practice of conditioning. Any vomiting or aches were more clausabley contributed to that.

All she could wrap her mind around was the fact, Chris had a hint of an idea of what happened. His actions and emotions were more of a roller coaster ride than Julie PMSing. One second he appeared to be gazing admiringly at her, although is may have just been her imagination, and the next his eyes would shift, scowling to the floor. She wasn't sure if she had subconsciously been avoiding him or he refused to talk to her, it supplied the same outcome. 

She really didn't want to think about it too hard and risk loosing her breakfast over it, which she was on the verge of. Shifting over to her side she cursed the deities for their sadism, and watching her vomit up her guts during Saturday's conditioning practices. She began to clench her eyes shut only being interupted once again by the ring of her phone. The one that she had misplaced on Monday in Physics, only to be retrieved Friday morning in the security office. As she grabbed it off the bedside table she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of deja-vu.

"Ello?" she mumbled.

"Connie? You're alive," the familiar voice irked her ears.

"Yea Guy… I think you would have found out by now if I was dead."

"Funny. Why haven't you been answering?" he asked, concern saturating his voice like a lovesick dog.

"Busy… School, hockey, getting used to a new state. I didn't come here for vacation. Plus I lost my phone Monday, just got it back yesterday," she spat falling back onto her back. She heard a pause, imagining the curly headed teen's apprehensive face curled up trying to comprehend the information she was feeding him.

"I just thought you'd want to maybe call me or something, when you got there. It's okay though," he trailed off.

"Sorry Guy, my life doesn't revolve around you," she groaned, clenching her teeth in pain.

"I know, I'm sorry. Have you been sick? You sound awful. All the Ducks miss you… except, well of course Julie. We all think you should have stayed here, you're a great player babe," he started up again like a wind up doll.

"I'm fine," she stressed. "And good, that bitch can rot in hell. The Select is better than the Ducks anyway."

"Seriously honey, is something wrong? You know you can talk to me," he emphasized.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm sorry, but I have to go, I have to leave for practice in a couple of minutes…. So I'll talk to you later k?" she shrugged aggravated.

"Okay I understand. Sorry that the Ducks aren't good enough for you. This new team has really gone to your head Con," he responded with the first hint of anger in his voice. Last time he'd been like this is when they lost their scholarships.

"You know what, the Ducks aren't good enough. You will never realize that you're just a dead end Minnesota team likes hundreds of others in the state, who will wind up working at some meat factory or lumber yard for the rest of your lives. At least I'm out doing something, not being a codependent clingy prick like you," she spat heart pulsing with anger. There was another pregnant pause; she once again pictured Guy sitting in his dorm, holding the phone, his face numb in shock, eyes wide in disbelief.

"You know what Constance Moreau. I don't need you. We don't need you. You're a pompous little bitch. Have fun in Colorado fucking all the guys you've probably been with you little skan-"

"So what if I'm with other guys. Like I said I'm not co-dependant like you Guy. At least I can get some," she interrupted.

"Fine. Just, go, go to practice, have fun, see if I care. Eden Hall is better off with out you," his voice cracked, as though he was on the verge of tears.

"Okay, bye," she screeched into the phone tossing it across the wall where she watched it shatter, case flying across the room, tears spilling down her cheeks. Maybe I'm the one who's PMSing she thought falling back onto the bed. 


	14. Here's a Story of the Tiger and a Goose

**Author's Note[Kaile]-** Want to know something sad? Of course you do. When Jessi's not going homework (which is seldom thus the less than frequent updates) we sit here and brainstorm angst. 

Supergurl181 (Jessi): and THAT drives him off 

Supergurl181: and then he tries to kill himself

Supergurl181: resulting in adam and casey angst?

Supergurl181: should i kill hallie?

Laffytaffyislife (Kaile): eh nah

laffytaffyislife: too insig to use death on

laffytaffyislife: we must use it wisely

Supergurl181: yes

Just a short snipet which accomplishes nothing. Jessi wrote Guy, I wrote Connie and Charlie, sorry it's choppy and gross. I had to write a letter to get my brother into the Catholic school near my house for my mum and that threw my groove off and now my mind has gone to crap. Once again all feedback is more than appreciated.

**Disclaimer**- Ducks go to The Mouse, "OC"s go to their figure in reality. Whatever you get the idea, I'm not funny nor creative.

~*~

**Reviewer shout outs-**

[Padfoots Pirate] Well you finally saw the movies Kaitlin ;-) I'm so proud. Now you can understand what's going on. Tell me if you're out looking for food anytime soon, I'd be glad to come along. 

[D.L. SchizoAuthoress] On the behalf of both Jessica and myself, we're honoured for you to leave a review, let alone read this. Thanks for the compliments and take your time reading ;-) We're slow updaters.

[crazy4nc128] Thanks :-)

[C-Chan96] Yes, Banksie is very much so in denial. We're attempting some Charlie angst here. It may be subpar, but I need to start breaking my angst block somewhere.

[KShyne99] Ha good, I like writing the Connie plot. And that's a good idea. The transitions are very choppy, I've noticed that, but at the same time am not sure how to fix it. I suppose it's just the style of the plot, separate scenes and people and times. But I'll make an honest effort to improve, I know it needs done. Thanks. 

[The Artist Formerly Known as Q] Just as in the case of Schizo, we're honoured. Lol, don't worry about the adjectives, it's a work in progress. I need to stop using them and start using better verbs. Makes things more clear ;-) I've tried to figure how else to tie all the subplots together but have gotten no where, so I'm glad you're managing the skippy, spastic way things are turning out. Thank you :-)

[L.M. Lachance] laffytaffyislife: write a response

Supergurl181: yay! *waves flag* I'm glad i could turn you towards bash slash.  And it's always great to hear positive feedback about our writing

[NyGoldfish54] Ah, thank you regardless for your faithful reviewing. It always makes me happy to see I have a new review in my e-mail.

[marina] Wow, you make an excellent point. I never picked up on the swearing (nor did Jessi, her usage surprises me, she's far more clean than myself) but after reading your review I went and re-read the entire story with an eye out for cussing. Sure enough every chapter, heh. I guess it's natural for me, seeing the hockey environment that I've grown up in. Locker rooms are far from clean places (both verbally and physically) and it becomes second nature for us when we leave. So while it (from my experience) reflects how a hockey team talks I can definitely see how it's getting overwhelming. I'll try to use it only in places where it should be. Adam is certainly dealing with some 'issues', but we're trying not to angstify him too much, seeing as everyone in this story is bordering on angsty-Sue. Our updates are few and far between, I have awful ADD and am spacy while Jessi spends many hours studying like the good person she is. Hope you continue to read, thanks for the feedback!

~*~

 Guy stared at the grain of the cheap wood of his desk.  Not entirely sure what had just happened.  

"_I don't need you… you're a pompous little bitch."  Maybe it hadn't really happened.  He couldn't think of saying that to his Connie.  His sweet Connie Mereau.  And she couldn't have… no.  It had never happened, she wouldn't. They hadn't just broken up.  _But she never returned your calls. Ever._   A nagging voice in his head taunted.   He wouldn't believe that she had had… sex with another guy.  She was also living with a guy, what was his name? Chris? What if his friends… what if she was raped and ashamed? I'm not there for her.  She might need me.  He became frantic and called her phone again.  _

"Hello? Connie?"  He asked into the receiver when the incessant ringing had stopped.

"Fuck off bastard." And she hung up.

They had broken up?  No.  But she- he ran a hand through his tangle of curly hair and rubbed his face.  How had that happened? He didn't understand anything anymore.   Fumbling the two paces to his bed, he flopped into it, burying his head into his pillow.  _Screw classes._

Slowly he drifted off again still tripping over the same redundant questions.  Guy didn't notice his pillow was damp, nor did he recognize the fear growing in his stomach.  Perhaps he was just in denial. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

Connie wiggled uncomfortably on the cheap wooden bleachers which she assumed was manufactured the year the school opened, aka 1973, along with the nauseating orange lights that reflected off the walls. A short, somewhat crazed man was pacing along the court directing half the class of apathetic teenagers in a game of floor hockey, randomly yelling out comments such as 'FOCUS! Be the tiger ladies and gentlemen!' and 'The goal is a castle, you are a princess your defense is a moat, AHHH!!!!". The other half wasn't dressed out, not that Renes cared, they all received passing grades anyway, and consisted of a couple giggling, make up caked girls who had walked out of the gym within the first four minutes of class, like they did everyday, an overweight black girl who sat alone in the corner engrossed in a book, and Connie. She hadn't gotten over the original shock that she wasn't in the mood for floor hockey the second day of class and was now just miserable. No one should be punished with gym first hour alone...

Shifting again, attempting to take a bite of a graham cracker she had grabbed from the Miller's pantry that morning, she couldn't help but wonder what had gotten into her lately. She had been sickeningly disintegrated from her surroundings, and the excuses of altitude sickness and a new state were no longer viable. She was sluggish and moody, something Donna had sympathetically attributed to a stomach virus that had been going around. Regardless of how sick she was or how clingy Guy was, she was second guessing her flat out bitchy reaction to him. Imagining her boyfriend so broken over her was enough to make her want to burst into tears, if at the same time the mouthful of honey graham cracker wasn't on the way back up her throat, prompting her to sprint out of the gym towards the bathroom. Maybe Donna had been right, she should have stayed home and slept.

~*~

Charlie was surprised that he had been able to pull off his facade for the last week without breaking down. He was constantly skating the line between mental and emotional collapse, yet he was past the edge of hysterics and was verging on a complete breakdown which would involve him collapsing the floor silently, unable to move, to talk, or to think. He had been testing his strength, the weight of his musings building up pressure against his rusty and weak mental boundaries, which were now pulsing with fatigue. An entire week he had not only refrained from showing the slightest bit of negative emotion, he had been able to pull of a cheerful demeanor.

But he couldn't take it anymore. He quickened his pace through the commons, the path masked by the dusk that had fallen, the chilly air biting at his exposed skin. His duffle bag was more than likely still sitting abandoned in the apartment complex basement so he had been forced to beg Adam for clothes, which he had willingly lent his roommate, but not without suspicion. The only plausible excuse he could muster was that the detergent had gone bad, ruining the entire load. It still left Banks with an air of doubt, but he was able to obtain the stiff corduroy jacket, two pairs of khaki pants, a couple polo shirts and boxers, which Charlie was oblivious to his friend's blushing as he handed them over. He had willingly worn the jacket over the shirts, to cover his arms, to avoid any questioning.

He knew he had sunk low. Typical teenage angst scarred his arms, with a piece of scrap metal stolen from none other than his science classroom. He had hit some kind of rock bottom, insulting everything that he was under the impression that he stood for. Yet his morality must have been thrown out the window for good when he had left the apartment that night, when his mother, his only family, had disowned him.

His thoughts were no longer coherent. He was unable to sleep, incomplete thoughts constantly echoing in his head at night, long hours spent watching the ceiling and the poetic rise and fall of Adam's shallow breathing. In return he attempted to vent the pent up energy through extra devotion to practice, skating every drill at one hundred percent, staying after for laps. Yet it had failed, increasing his struggle to keep his emotions under his veneer, all of which had decreased his appetite. Luckily he had never been a success in the classroom, or his grades would have plunged from the fatigue.

Unaware of what he was doing, he briskly walked towards the main building on the edge of the campus. Towards the back stairway that led up along the back of the aging stone building, towards the greenhouse and up another flight of murky chilling steps to the top tower of the roof. To the place so high above the problems that life on the ground possessed, he wasn't sure if he ever planned on returning.


	15. Our Special is the Crème of Broccoli Sou...

**Author's Note- **Well they're putting my dog to sleep this weekend and Cub's trial is Friday. I don't have much else to say. Jessi helped write most of this, I get dibs on the Charlie angst though. Sorry that I've been posting short chapters lately, I'll get myself out of the habit. And most of all, all constructive criticism is more than welcome, it's encouraged.

**Disclaimer- **The Mouse owns it all. Damn the Mouse.

~*~

 Casey looked up from wiping the sticky shake from the table as the bells on the door chimed.  "I'll be with you in a moment," she called giving the table one last scrub before briskly striding to the counter to dispose of the rag and grab a menu.  

"Our special is the Crème of Broccoli soup or the Dixon sandwich." 

"What's the Dixon?" his voice was low and melodic, and she took a closer look at him.  

He looked maybe forty-five, with almost black hair and clear blue eyes.  His brown trench coat reminded her of Gordon, but she wouldn't think of that.  Even at forty-three, she looked young.  Sparse gray crept through her curly hair and a worry crease slept between her brows. 

"It's a Ham and Alfalfa sprout sandwich." 

"I'll take the soup."

"Good choice." Turning towards the swinging kitchen doors, she became very aware of his eyes on her back.

~*~

The wind blew harder at the top of the building, numbing harshly anything that was exposed. If he was in any coherent state of mind, he would have condemned himself for coming outside on a Minnesota night in February. 

He began to weigh out the occurrences of his life. On a more optimistic side, he had secured a scholarship to a prestigious high school through his hockey skills. Unfortionatly his grades were so low, college seemed like a non-option for him, not being able to afford in-state tuition.  He could see how hard Connie had worked, and how hard Dwayne worked, but he couldn't bring himself to do it himself.  He envied them and their progress to be able to focus on what was probably going to make them into significant people.  He knew his hockey skills weren't good enough for college, there were millions like him.  Back when he was thirteen, he had even remembered telling Bombay that he was a better coach.  He needed someone to listen and understand.  But he had moved away to Washington to become a better lawyer, and long distance calls were a waste of money.

He shifted his position on the frigid bricks, clasping his fists tightly within the jacket, attempting to regain feeling, which has long passed with throbbing pain. He mind slowly drifted back to his contemplation, and he knew deep down hockey was no reason to plummet to his death. However the cynical and dominant side of his brain hinted at another reason, of which he was in denial about.

His mom. The only family he had in the world who had been so quick to kick him out of the house. The only one who he had ever been sure that truly loved him, disowned him in the blink of an eye, as though she'd waited for 17 years to finally have an excuse to throw him out on his ass.

Sighed he clenched his eyes shut, sick of referring to the clichés. His subconscious was a constant battle between what he thought he felt and his analyzation of said feelings. A tug of war waged inside his mind between his cries to end it all, and the skeptic that called him feeble and pathetic for such thoughts. Every time he sat in physical silence the battle that underwent in his head was deafening. He was incapable of running from what he heard, for any attempt to escape only increased it, as did every passing day. 

Biting his lip he was able to return to the lucid world around him for a split second, noticing that he was no longer cross-legged on the ground, rather teetering with the wind along the ledge. The last image that flashed across his mind was the dark campus, the sky empty, moon hidden, before a surge of black surrounded him and all he could hear was an echo of laughter.

~*~

"Do you often work late?" Mark, as she had found out, asked sipping coffee and picking at a cherry pie in front of him. Over the last week he had come in everyday for either lunch or dinner.  

"Yeah.  My son's at Eden Hall on a hockey scholarship, but I still have to look after him." 

"Ah, the wonders of a single parenthood."

"You sound like you have experience mark." 

"I did.  Kaitlin died in a mugging while visiting her mom in New York, since then I've lost touch with my ex wife." 

"Oh that must have been awful." 

"It was.  Hey, do you want to go see a movie or something Case?" 

"Um..." 

"It's my treat.  Lock up then we'll go to the Mall of America and ride all the rides in camp snoopy." Casey laughed showing off her brilliant smile, "If it hasn't closed, I haven't seen Legoland since Charlie was 7."


	16. Pink Shirts With Rainbows

**Author's Note- **[Jessi]: Longer chapter for the masses, and an update in the same week! *gasp* Je wrote the locker room scene, Ki wrote the rest.  All hockey equipment/misc information comes from her.  Back to the homework slums for meee. [Kaila] I have nothing to say really…

**Disclaimer-** Ducks bow to mouse… pirates bow to mouse, Lions bow to mouse, pretty much everything bows to the mouse. It's the circle of life.

~*~

[Kshyne99] Thanks :-D I've really enjoyed talking to you, thanks for putting up with me ranting and caring. :smiles: Hope this relieves your boredom.

[C-Chan96] Hooray for Conway angst! We actually don't brainstorm angst a lot, most of my ideas come up while I'm in class. Jessi on the other hand is paying attention and taking notes and what not. I just can't wait for you to read what's coming up… ;-) I really appreciate your feedback, however rambled it is. Makes me smile. 

[Padfoots-Pirate] Hey talk to Jessi about that mon cherie. There should be more plot development here I do say. Glad to hear you're… enjoying swimming. Did you do it on your own free will?

[Kath] "You're here to write stories, not tell … stories" :curtseys: Ma'am your logic, daresay, confuses us… Writing is telling. If our OCs are Mary Sues you're more than welcome to fill out a Mary Sue form at the ducksues Live Journal. I do believe it may be difficult to fill out though… This story is about the cannon Ducks, so by calling it an Original it'd be plagiarism. However that may be a concept you haven't learned yet, so it's okay. We happen to like updating at 76.9% of my effort, we don't believe in perfection. As Jessi says "Perfection is relative; in another two months we'll look back and find that it was horrible." We'd adhere to your suggestions, but they're all mere opinions with no merit nor backing that don't coincide with ours. Sorry. :-) Do continue to read though; your input is much… appreciated.

[crazy4nc128] Danke. Charlie is a naughty boy. Do read on…

~*~

Casey swan into consciousness.  The inside of her eyelids red with the light from outside.  The bed was too comfortable to be her own, and there was strange warmth to her left.  She smiled, remembering back when Charlie used to climb into bed with her when he was younger.  He blamed it on nightmares, but that wasn't always true.

Cracking open her blue eyes, she noted that neither she nor Mark were wearing clothes.  Well that was a productive first date.  Charlie would kill me, or spew at knowing I slept with him.  She frowned remembering their fight.  She couldn't believe that Charlie would smoke pot, or do drugs, but then, she had done some stupid things as a teenager.  There was no way in hell that she would ever want to return to that time, except maybe being in the comfort of her parent's house, and not worrying about paying the bills on time.  Her son was getting a good, free, education, and she was relatively happy.  I think I'll bake him some cookies today and return all of his clothes.  She glanced over at Mark again as his eyes fluttered, lifting from the dream world.

Leaning over him, she kissed his shoulder, "Morning handsome."  

~*~

Adam dropped his bag to the concrete floor, barely hearing the clatter of his stick over the din in the echo-y room.  He was perplexed.  This was two practices in less than a week that Charlie had missed.  His roommate hadn't bothered to show up during the night either.  Spazway lived for hockey.  At this rate, he was bound to get kicked off the team in his last year.  Unzipping his bag, Adam collapsed onto the bench and began to pull equipment out.

Brown eyes skimmed the room, his comrades in various states of dress.  Guy was simply staring at his skates, not attempting to don his gear, while Averman was in shoulder pads and boxers, animatedly telling Russ a story about some chick in his geography class.  

"Hey Mendoza! What's our History homework for tomorrow?" 

"Your mom!" the Floridian laughed at Dwayne's face eliciting a jeer from Goldberg.

On the other side of the room, Adam grimaced; Fulton and Portman had their heads together and were talking quietly.  His stomach twisted.  G-d why couldn't' anyone see that they were fucking each other? Fulton was practically in Portman's lap

Turning away he picked up one of his shin guards and pulled it in place.  Hunting for his other, he felt a snap on his back.  Averman laughed holding up the rolled towel, along with Kenny and Goldberg.

"You shoulda seen the look on your face."

"Priceless." Goldberg mentioned, placing an arm around his shoulders, "where's captain duck? Cake-eater?"

"I... don't know," he hesitated.

"Bad Charlie," Averman scratched his thick red hair, "at this rate, I'll be made captain and he'll be watching.  So, should we cover?"

"Orion won't buy it," Kenny grunted, muffled as he tried to find the hole in his jersey through which his head should fit.

"Still, we should try…" Dwayne mentioned.  

Ignoring them once again, Adam looked over to the bash brothers in time to see Portman caress Fulton's thigh before going for his bag.

"G-d Portman go fuck him somewhere else," he spat.  The entire locker room went quiet as they all turned questioning eyes to the Bashes.  The Chicagoan had warning in his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean Banks?" Fulton asked.

"Don't you think the team has a right to know how sick you guys are? How perverted? They've been fucking each other for G-d knows how long."  If looks could kill, Adam Banks would be dead ten times over, six feet under and showing the decay of eight months.

"'Zat true?" Goldberg asked defensiveness clouding his eyes.  

"Naw, Banks is just making shit up because he feels like there isn't enough drama in his life."

"Fuck you Portman.  I walked in on you Saturday morning.  You were boning Fult like a whore, and he was enjoying it."  

Fulton stepped forward, "look guys, what's the big deal? It's not like we've changed or anything." They all took involuntary steps backwards.  

"We're not going to come at you, pelvis first." Portman rolled his eyes coming up behind Fulton.

"I doubt that." Mendoza spat accusatorily.

"Doncha guys read the bible? That stuff's wrong," Dwayne piped up.

"I was in the showers with you guys." Goldberg sounded horrified.  Kenny simply looked away, Averman attempted to joke, "Well I guess we can't drop the soap anymore."

"Aw come on, they haven't danced around in snakeskin pants or anything," Guy protested, "Like they said, they're still the same."

"But now that we know, they don't have to be restrained.  I wouldn't be surprised if Fulton put on a shirt with rainbows and pink triangles," Averman suggested. 

"Guy and Kenny don't care," Fulton accused, "why can't you guys be more open."

"I never said I didn't care, I don't like it, but it's your guys' thing," Kenny shrugged.

"What if one of them comes after you Kenny?  What'll you do then?" Adam queried.

"I don't know, but I doubt that it'll happen." 

"Damn straight, like I said, we're not going to hit on you."

"Oh great now he's insulting our looks," Averman said flippantly, attempting to keep to his normal self.

"You guys disgust me."

"Right back atcha Banksie, you fucking homophobe."

"Fuc-"

"Language Banks, Portman," Orion stalked in somberly, head down. The ruckus that had spurred came screeching to a silent halt.

"Sorry coach," Banks mumbled, hanging his head down submissively, the hard dark eyes of his teammate cutting through his flesh.

"It's okay… um… guys…" he muttered unable to string together a coherent sentence, his words thick and awkward. None of the Ducks had ever seen their headstrong, assertive coach like this, yet none had the words to intertwine with the awkward sight in front of them and instead continued lacing their skates and taping their socks. Averman finally broke the silence.

"Coach who died?" he chuckled dryly. Orion bit his lip.

"Conway… he's been… hurt…" he whispered hoarsely.

~*~

The empty apartment echoed with the ringing of the phone from the kitchen. After six drawn out tones, it stopped and a poorly recorded machine clicked on.

"_Hello, you've reached Casey and Charlie, sorry we're not here, but leave a your name and number and we'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!"_

"Um, hello, Ms. Conway," a frigid trembling voice reverberated. "This is Dean Buckley from Eden Hall Academy. I'm sorry to tell you, but there has been an accident involving your son Charlie. We'll try to contact you at your work number, but if you get this message, it'd be best for you to call us back immediately. Thank you." 

There was a firm click and then silence. 


	17. Guernica

**Author's Note- **Sorry we haven't updated in awhile. Jessi, as usual is slaving over homework and helping me write a different story, while I have started track season. If you must know all the peachy details, feel free to reference my live journal. We've done some brainstorming and are ready to get back into action. Short as always. I guess that's all you can expect of us, is quick little updates spread far apart. Sorry. Cheerios.

**Disclaimer- **You should get the idea by now.

~*~

[DigitalAngel4U] Ah thank you! There's two of us. Jessi (aiteane) and Kaila (denverhockeygirl). We're both girls. I [Ki] write Charlie, Connie, Adam, Julie, etc. scenes while Jessi is in charge of the Bash Slash. The Vannatta brothers are actually two guys I played hockey with and am still friends with. The game is something them, my brother and myself made up one night ;-) Once again, your compliments make us blush. Thanks!

[Padfoots-Pirate] I see. I figured your mum had you swimming like she had you playing soccer or something. Anyway it's my turn to bitch now because track season has begun. And yes, poor, poor Charlie.

[KShyne99] No problem! I enjoy listening to people rant, although I do a lot of ranting myself. It's been great talking to you online. Sorry it's taken so long to update, been pretty busy. I thought the cliffhanger would attract more input which I wanted before I continued but no such luck. So here we are. Thanks :-)

[NYGoldfish54] Ha ha, while much after you have issued your command, we continue. Thanks for the review, it makes me happy.

[C-Chan96] Thanks for the compliment in your 'Shattered Glass' shout outs. I was torn for a long time what to do with our dear friend Spazway… so read on ;-)

~*~

A light swam into view slowly fighting back the darkness around him. Distant voices murmured familiarly.  "'Ooz der?" he demanded, not aware of the saliva that had slipped from his mouth in his words. The last thing he could pull from his memory was the dark ground quickly approaching him, the moonlight taunting his anguished soul, before everything had abruptly went black. Now he lay in a state of euphoria, no longer mangled on the damp grass, rather dazed and numb. Before he was able to manage another coherent though, he once again slipped away from consciousness.

~*~

Casey leaned forward as she watched her son's eyelids fluttered open and he grunted something unintelligible before falling back into unconsciousness.  Biting her lip she leaned back slightly in the hard plastic chair, focusing attentively at the comatose figure. Oblivious to the room around her she took his frigid hand in hers, rubbing it softly, avoiding the IV line that punctured a vein.

"Ms. Conway?" a stern deep voice stated coldly. With no response he cleared his throat repeating himself, "Ms. Conway."

"Yes?" she turned her head to greet the doctor that had come into the doorway. 

"Charlie was found quite sometime after he initially- jumped." she glanced up from her son fearfully. "He'll survive, but we're concerned with a break in his 12th thoracic verte-" 

"What?" she mumbled fearfully. 

"Basically he broke his back in the fall ma'am. He was lucky to escape with his life," the white clad man stated monotonously, removing a pair of wire frames from his eyes, wiping the lenses.

"Oh G-d." she slumped back into her chair and put her face in her hands.  

~*~

"I can't believe he fell," the blonde mumbled, head in his lap, oblivious to the ruckus around them in the cafeteria. Ever since the morning announcement the entire school has been up in an eerie disarray of rumours and whispers. 

"Banks, he didn't fall he jumped," the heavyset teen stated obliviously, seemingly unaffected by the news of their captains fate. Dwayne, Guy, Averman, Luis and Julie silently congregated with the other two boys at the original Duck table, for the first time since freshmen year, before they had split off in separate directions. "You've heard what everyone has said. Some of the girls' swim team was walking through the commons and found him. Wrists slit up, bleeding…"

"Why would he jump Goldberg?" he spat, his ice blue eyes glaring defensively.

"Eh I dunno. He was under a lot of stress I guess. College, hocke-"

"His life was fucking perfect," Adam interrupted, his voice hoarse and knotted. The goalie gawked in hiatus, mouth still open in the shape of his last syllable. Sighing he shook his head.

"Adam, ya know this ain't gonna change anything," Dwayne piped in, attempting his shot at reviving the crumbling boy.

"Fuck you, Dwayne. Fuck you," he snarled, standing up and sprinting out through the crowd. 

 ~*~

Portman motioned to punch the wall, but with Fulton's hand on his forearm, and his gesture to the opposite wall with the hole through the cheap plaster, he let his arm fall back to his side.  Instead he kicked the metal bed frame, earning a helpful twinge of pain in his foot.  

"Hand me some booze," he mumbled flopping backwards onto his bed.  "I can't believe that little prick would go and blab like that."

Pulling two beers from their stash in the closet, Fulton tossed one to Portman.

You know, I told you they wouldn't understand." Portman said half to the ceiling, half to Fulton who had pushed himself into the corner at the end of his bed, sipping his own bottle.

"Yeah, I guess," he sighed. "I'm worried about Charlie."

"He did what he wanted.  Think about us, dude.  The team is going to fall apart,  the team is going to fall apart, They're going to fuck us over."

"Port, I don't think that's as big of a deal as Charlie killing himself, I mean, G-d, he was my first real friend."

"He would have accused us too."

"I don't believe that."

He snorted in disbelief, leaving the silent air heavy, as if a storm was about to come.  Fulton watched through half lidded eyes as his roommate stood to grab his second beer.


	18. The Good Ol' Hockey Game

**Author's Note- **This is the hockey chapter, something to break my writer's block. It's taken me about a week to write this and has come out in bits and pieces so sorry if it doesn't flow well. 

Thought I'd clarify this for even Jessi who writes this was confused about the time period. It's late February/early March 1999, Connie transferred at the end of first semester (mid-January). Kapeesh? (There's a word I haven't used in awhile). It will all come into play eventually.

Also if you read this, feedback is much appreciated. It helps us know whether or not we're overdoing certain issues or ideas as well as pushes us in the right direction. We're going to be toying with some serious and sensitive issues coming up and your comments will be our basis for how much or how little we cover it. Danke.

Disclaimer- I don't own crap. The thoughts on chicks hockey however, aren't my own. A bit of satire if you will. 

~*~

[Wiccan-One14] Thanks. Adam is being a bit of a dick, stupid homophobe. But as Dave Barry once said, "The characters just take on minds of their own and you can't stop them. Damn characters."

[crazy4nc128] Ha ha, I suppose Adam isn't high in anyone's books anymore. Thanks for the faithful reviews, they're encouraging.

[Padfoots Pirate] Go back to bed Kaitlin. We need to chill again sometime 'aight? Fo' sha? Holler. Marquez made me a homie today, what can I say.

[Nygoldfish54] Thanks for going out of your way to IM me. It made me smile.

[C-Chan96] I need your input on the Charlie situation, fellow queen of Spazzway angst. So if you read this, share your thoughts on the whole ordeal. And daskvi dane for updating 'One Way Ticket'. You're my hero.

~*~

"Banks get out there," Orion growled.  Slipping his mouth guard into place with his tongue, he tumbled over the barrier feeling slightly disoriented not have the presence of their captain. Glancing quickly at the scoreboard he noted they were down 2 to 1 with a mere 1:37 left in the third and Portman in the box for another 47 seconds. What a way to end the regular season, he thought as he glided half hazardly into the Duck's zone where the Cadets had possession.

"Banks skate!" the gruff voice bellowed from the bench, prompting him to pick up more speed as he went to guard the open St. Thomas player in front of the net, watching diligently as Dwayne wrestled the puck out of the corner from a some goon and passed it across to Averman, who wove behind the net through one of the wingers and passed the puck up the boards where an open point was standing. Ken hustled across from behind the blue line to where he was supposed to be in position, but was too late, as the open Cadet d had passed across to another player who wound up, shooting top shelf past Julie's open glove. 

As the mass of blue gathered in front of the net, slapping the hand and butting heads with the scorer, the Ducks glided away from the scene heads down. Portman slowly stepped out of the box, forlorn, eyes on the ice. Adam glanced out of the corner of the eye where Dwayne had skated up to the net to offer Julie some support. 

"Change it up," Orion spat in disgust, not looking up to eye the clock, which now read 3-1, 23 seconds remaining. Silently the next line of Fulton, Luis and Guy shuffled out onto the ice and glided to centre ice for the face off, backed by a discouraged Portman and Russ. Watching the puck drop, Adam's eyes drifted away from the ice and towards the stands. 

He had been playing hockey for 15 years and had never taken his eyes off the ice long enough to notice anything but the condescending scowls of his dad. Obliviously he let his vision gaze around the bleachers. A sea of blue flooded one end of the rink, while countering them weakly was a feeble mass of red. He couldn't blame the Eden Hall fan's lack of enthusiasm, the returning state champion's season was a measly 12-17, and this game would conclude a 9 game loosing streak. Senioritis, the loss of Connie and other regular teenage issues had put a damper on their performance, unfortunately in the vital time that scholarships were offered and futures secured. 

The buzzer snapped him out of his daze, his eyes returning to the ice, mind in the direction of reality. They had just lost to the Saint Thomas Cadets, the laughing stock of Minnesota high school hockey, the players from the all boys school that were continually taunted about being fags and queers. Strong way to head off into the playoffs. 

Adam slowly stood up and swung himself over the bench, the Duck's silence overpowered by the cheers of the opposing fans. As the melancholy team lined up at centre ice to shake hands, Banks eyed their infuriated yet reserved coach swallowing a trickle of spit which stuck to his dry throat, thinking perhaps it was good Charlie wasn't there, for Orion's demeanor meant hell in the locker room.

~*~

This game had a definite different feel than the millions of games she had played with the Ducks.  Leaning over the boards in anticipation Connie noted the cleaner skating and game plays, the fast finesse moves and heightened atmosphere. As one of the Select players flew down the far boards with possession, more gracefully than Ken she confirmed her good decision making in coming to Colorado. Darcy, the girl with the puck, skated swiftly around the taller blonde d from the other team, deaked the goalie and with ease shot top shelf.

The short brunette shuffled quickly over to the bench to the cheers of her teammates. _If only Julie could be here to see this, she'd be amazed,_ Connie grinned reaching her stick across the boards in ritual. When Connie had left the Ducks they were bordering on the edge of demise. After being together, some for 10 years, tensions were running high and beginning to affect the performance on the ice. With the Select Connie didn't have to worry about dating a teammate or stifling rumours that were flying around the school, or even getting pummeled by a guy Portman's size.

Even the sheer aptitude on the team was enough to rival the Ducks. Darcy was a fast, vivacious little girl with moves that would compete with Adam. Maddy their 1st line left winger and captain was a contender for strongest leadership with Charlie. Averman could get his ear talked off by Lana, their quirky 2nd line defenseman, or should she say woman. Jenna, their goalie, was only 14 and eligible to play for the U15 team, but was moved up, and would be able to take Goldberg in a shootout. The only other goaltender Connie had seen with such raw talent was Julie, who unfortunately thought she was above women's hockey. Kristina was a tough cookie and got in her fair share of scuffles. The short sophomore would be clobbered by someone Portman's size, but there weren't any girls that big and fighting wasn't part of the game. It was skill, not brute force that won tournaments, a real showcase of talent.  

As Darcy and the rest of the first line filed back onto the bench and the cheering had subsided, Connie hopped the boards to join her linemates at centre ice. The scoreboard read 4-1 for the Select's favour against the DU girls and the rink was pulsating in exhilaration. 

Who needed the Ducks anymore?


	19. Going Away to College

**Author's Note- **I've had the worst writer's block. I'm also incapable of writing without talking to Jessi who's been horrifically busy with homework and other such filth. I'm finally taking the motivation to write alone and write something that, for me, is lengthy. Go me. Jess did however write the Portman/Banks scene.

Happy Hollow Chocolate Bunny Day and Matzo Awareness Week.

And also boo on DU for winning the NCAA championship last night. I'm a CC fan. Psh Harry Pothead fans of theirs…

**Disclaimer- **These get dull after 19 of them.

~*~

The past two weeks had passed surreally, life possessing the melodramatic air of a dream. Not horrendous enough to be a nightmare and awake in cold sweat, rather a combination of lifeless yet bizarre events that made you toss and turn, and wake up more exhausted than when you had first drifted off. April was emerging as new and the pressures of hockey season were prematurely lifted.

For the first time in six years the Ducks had not made the playoffs. It was an embarrassing fate, at times one would assume the league was structured around the concept of not hurting a player's feelings, as though they were five. Annually only two teams didn't move on to the playoff rounds, the two that had finished at the bottom of the regular season standings. The other 16 teams moved on.

Every year Adam and the other Ducks had mocked the other teams with a sense of ease. It was impossible that they'd ever be able to sink that low. But as senior year was thrown on them unknowingly, they were suffocating, struggling frantically to keep their heads above water, their playing no longer a priority.

Sighing the blonde's gaze drifted away from the empty corner of his dorm back to the stack of mail he was shifting through. College acceptance letters. His heart pumping with adrenaline, a feeling that didn't match his emotions, as he flipped through the stack. Harvard, University of Minnesota, Northwestern, Yale, Princeton, Cornell, University of Maine and Stanford. All eight schools he'd worked up the guts to apply to, with pressure from his dad to achieve Ivy League status and the cool collectiveness of Charlie. The scouts that fluttered around in the background through out his first two years of high school had finally approached the front. At his peak, during junior year, scouts from Colorado College, University of Wisconsin, University of Denver, University of Michigan, Boston College and more had energetically approached him, amazed by his skill. By the end of the season he had no less than ten Division I scholarship offers, some verging on full ride. _Just what my dad had always wanted. What I thought I had always wanted, _he sighed, biting his lip at the recollection. 

The team verged on jealous. Charlie had been approached by the scouts as well, the scouts who were captivated by the story of the ducks, of having the opportunity to have the two leaders on their respective teams. While Adam had nodded silently at their offers, smiled slightly, shook their hands and walked away, Charlie ate the information up. It was beyond his wildest dreams, the opportunity to go to college, and better yet play hockey. Energetically he conversed with the scouts, trying to hold back his excitement. 

But now it was just a dream again. The captain was still bedridden at St. Paul's Children's Hospital awaiting the time to transfer to Bethesda Rehab. He'd been given crap after the initial shock had cleared off and he had regained consciousness about being in a pediatric ward. After the shock of realizing he was paralyzed from the waist down for life. Hockey was no longer a viable option. He'd never be able to stand alone or even walk, let alone skate, especially well enough to forge on a hockey career. 

So as Adam went onto wherever he chose next year, Julie left for Southern California to attend Scripps, a liberal arts women's college, Luis went back down to Florida State, not for hockey, but to be closer to his family, Guy was on his way to North Dakota on a partial scholarship for hockey with financial aid, Connie was signed to play for the Wisconsin-Eau Claire women and the rest of the Ducks parted their separate ways, Charlie would still be in St. Paul. Still living with his mom and her boyfriend, struggling to resume life normally.

Although the Ducks were no longer one, they managed to cling together to open a scholarship fund for their teammate. With the prospects of hockey dead and a mother who still relied on welfare to pay the heating bill, college was no longer in his grasp. Everything that Charlie had managed to build up in the last 10 years was shattered as easily as a house of cards in the wind, in a single night.

Adam shook his head and began to slowly open the letters, wishing that the brunette was sitting on his bed with him, jumpy with anticipation, there to raise his hopes up with any rejection letters that came and cheer with the acceptances. The first envelope he opened was a sturdy crème colour, official and prestige. It was from Harvard, where his dad had always pressured him into applying. To play hockey, to become a lawyer, to live up to the Banks name. He opened the flap carefully, as not to tear anything, and slid out the papers inside.

_Dear Adam Banks,_

_Harvard University would like to congratulate you for your acceptance into our…_

A grin flickered on his face. Perhaps his dad would finally be proud of him, finally love him. He went through the next seven envelopes quickly. Accepted into them all. The years of studying that Charlie and the guys had pestered him about had finally paid off. He didn't feel the need to run out of his dorm cheering, announcing to all his teammates his acceptances like some of the other kids in the hall did. He didn't feel like picking up the phone and calling his dad either. Grabbing his car keys that lay on the bedside table, he promptly left the room, the envelopes still scattered on the bed.

~*~

Adam stumbled through the medicinal hallway. They were worse than all the rinks and schools he had been in combined. Linoleum coloured with age from more than likely the 80s, lined the floor, and sickeningly white lights added to the sterile appearance. Antiseptic and sickness tainted the air into a muggy damp stench that clung to you long after you had left.

Approaching the familiar room her gradually opened the door. Lying on the bed attached to the menagerie of machines was Charlie. Sensing the entrance of something he groaned.

"What do you want?" he spat moving his gaze away from the ceiling tiles towards the doorway. "Oh hey Adam."

"Hey Charlie… is it okay that I stopped by?" he wondered meekly.

"Yeah doesn't bother me. I don't exactly have a busy schedule," the brunette shrugged, a loose curl falling into his bloodshot eyes. Weakly he lifted a feeble arm to push it behind his ears. No longer did he radiate vigor, his skin was almost translucent, lined with bruises and veins pulsated through milky flesh. His eyes were battling dark circles that engulfed his face. "Have a seat," he offered motioning towards two plastic chairs as though they'd be embezzled from a first grade classroom.

"Eh I'm cool dude. I got all my college acceptance letters today. I guess my mom kept them stockpiled at home and sent them to me at once," he divulged leaning against the wall adjacent to the small window that looked out at a grimy skyscraper downtown.

"How'd that go?" he responded, a soft bite tainting his voice.

"I got accepted into all of them…"

"That's great," Charlie grinned haphazardly. "You get to get out of this place, go play college hockey. You deserve it cake-eater." Adam gazed at his face. Although he had cocked his mouth into a smile, his eyes were empty with defeat and regret. 

"I'm… sorry you can't go to CC like you always wanted to."

"Psh it's only Colorado. I heard it's boring there… DU raped them this season anyway," he shrugged.

"Maybe you could go there anyway you know? And not play hockey," Adam offered trying to encourage his friend.

"Ha at 25,000 dollars a year just for tuition… Not happening. It's a private school so they don't give a lot of financial aide. Banks I'm cool. Shit happens."

"Seriously, I bet you co-"

"Adam," the brunette took his friends hand weakly sending a quiver down the blonde's back. "Look at me. I fucked up. And this time I can't change it," his attempt at strongly stating the harsh reality wavering as his voice quivered. "Go to Minnesota, have fun in Duluth, come visit, I know you have the money for gas so don't lie to me and use that as an excuse-"

"I'm not going to Minnesota I don't think dude. I'm going to go to Harvard," he interrupted.

"Why?" Charlie asked in shock dropping his hand. "I thought you hated Harvard. You always used to bitch about how it was your dad's dream school and you had to go continue on the family legacy and what bullshit it was. Why the sudden change?"

"I was thinking about it and he was right… I think. Great hockey, great education, and they're offering half a full ride and depending how I play next year it'll move up or down. Minnesota is just a state school…" 

"You're brainwashed. Minnesota is not just some state school; it was your dream school. I remember you always said how you'd been dreaming about playing hockey there ever since you were four and your dad would bring you and your brother to games," the brunette spat enraged. "And now you're going to sacrifice your dreams because of what your dad said? I thought you were better than that Banks."

"Dude… you actually remember me saying that? I didn't think you actually listened," Adam murmured in awe.

"Of course I did. I listened to every thing you told me. I thought I knew you. But I guess you're just like your dad. Just some state school? Psh," he growled, glaring menacingly at his friend.

"Why are you taking so much offence to it Charlie? I mean Harvard, hello, a hell of a lot better than Minnesota could ever be," he rebutted, his indecision starting to grow into defense.

"Well remember that when I'm at MCC next year okay?"

"MCC?" Adam paused.

"Minneapolis Community College. I would kill to go to Minnesota but my grades aren't good enough. I was relying on hockey to get me into school. Hindsight is 20-20."

"Oh… I'm really sorry. You knew I didn't mean it that way at all. Minnesota is a great school. I bet you can transfer there after your first year," he suggested.

"Whatever cake eater. Go call mommy and daddy and tell them you're going to Harvard. They'll be so damned proud," he spat. 

"Seriously Charlie," Adam pleaded.

"Leave Banks."

~*~

"Damn Banks, are you crying?" Portman asked.  His voice was loud echoing off of the concrete stairway.

"Naw I've just got something in my eye."  Adam rubbed furiously at his eyes.

"You are crying.  What's the matter? Didn't get into the ivy league you wanted? Did your parents yell at you and tell you, you would never be anything like the dead beat gay sinning Bash Brothers?"  Banks didn't answer attempting to push past the bigger teen.  

"Move Portman."

"No, why are you crying?" 

"Go the fuck away."

"Ooh, pulling out the bad words, we're bad ass now.  Not some pansy ass wipe who cries," Portman mocked.  Seeing red behind the heat of his tears, Adam punched Portman across the nose.  

"Shit.  You didn't just do that." The Chicagoan put a hand to his nose to find his fingers stained crimson.    He smirked wildly, "You don't know how much I've wanted to do this." Adam felt his head snap backwards, and an explosion of pain combusted in his nose.  "Fucking cake eater, you're like everyone else in this school."  Portman pushed past his teammate and continued down the stairs.  

When the echoes of the slamming door had faded, he slid down into a dingy corner and sobbed.  


	20. The Big Sleep

**Author's Note-** God. I have not written anything of substance in so long. The last time this story was updated was over a year ago. Jessi sent me a few pieces last fall, but I never started my portion. I've changed a lot since I began writing this, I've close to forgotten about where I was going with it. However I was looking back over this story this weekend, thinking about updating it and finishing it.

But then yesterday I vowed that I couldn't come back to it. I recieved a phone calling informing me a very close family friend/friend Chris Miller was killed in a car accident in British Columbia. Yes, the character who Connie stays with in Colorado. I thought about it over the last 24 hours and changed my mind, deciding to finally finish this piece and dedicate to him. Jessi's gone in Europe, I don't know how she'll feel about me finishing it, or how it'll turn out without her guidance. She's my muse and I struggle without her. Never the less I'm going to give it a shot.

RIP Chris.

**Disclaimer-** You know the drill. The passage used is Ecclesiastes 3:1-9.

_------_

"A time to be born, and a time to die," a sallow faced priest read in a sober tone. Adam gazed surreally around the cemetery, the exact place where Hans had been buried seven years before. A small, somber group had gathered. The size only emphasized how he'd faded away slowly after the past few years. His peak in high school had long sense been forgotten. The Minnesota spring was more inviting than it's harsh winter, but the cold was still powerful enough to require wearing a jacket. The light was flat and dull, as though a storm had finished yet never cleared. Biting his lip and pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his wool trench coat, he fought desperately to contain meaningless tears. He had come from Cambridge alone.

"A time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant." It was something he'd grown used to over the past three years. Looking up, he saw a petite brunette clutching the hand of a rugged looking blonde, shaggy hair cascading into his eyes hiding any emotion. Connie had reunited with Guy, but only to travel back to Minneapolis together. Having gone and lived in Denver had tore the two apart, and her stint with the Chris guy she lived with had made the severe irremediable. Connie had thrived having the opportunity to leave her hometown. She was majoring in pre-med in Wisconsin one of the stars of the Lady Badgers hockey team. Adam only knew this from having read the papers and following NCAA hockey. He didn't speak to any of the Ducks anymore.

"A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to tear down, and a time to build." The insensitive drawl of the priest irritated Adam. He wanted to yell out for him to stop, to quit doing his friend such an injustice, that he didn't even know him. But despite his physical limitations, that his throat was so dry and hoarse not even the simplest words could escape, he couldn't. It would be hypocritical. He didn't even know the man anymore. His focus shifted from the broken couple to yet another. Or least a portion of. Fulton stood with a woman he didn't recognize. Both had long matted hair tied back into ponytails, clad in leather. Even wearing respectable formal wear couldn't hide either's tattoos. Fulton turned his head, deep brown eyes catching his own. A hardened glare was exchanged, though Adam could have sworn that it had softened on Fulton's side, before he whipped his head back around. He'd always been more willing to forgive and forget than Portman.

"A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance." He spotted the familiar redhead huddled next to their former coach. Even her petite form managed to look even smaller that normal. He had been her only reason for living, for waking up in the morning, slaving to the system from dusk until dawn, performing menial labour just to make ends meet. After the… accident, as it came to be referred as, she stretched her abilities further, providing the round the clock care he required. Her rosy complexion was dull with pain and exhaustion, even her hair didn't glisten the lame rays of sun that fought through the thick gray cloud cover. She was a broken woman many times over, had been taped back together, reattached with gum, and propped into place. But this time she had no reason to reconnect the pieces.

"A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; A time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces." Peter, Goldberg, Tammy and Averman stood together, clinging onto one another. They had an invulnerable and unyielding bond. One that could not be broken, one that did not open to newcomers. A bond that Adam had struggled with for years. He was still, subconsciously in some of their minds, enemy number one. He was still a Hawk. The two original D5 members that had convinced the group otherwise were in jail (Jesse had been imprisoned on drug charges and would remain there for two more years) or six feet under. He couldn't decide what fate was better. Without their leadership, the animosity for Adam grew. They couldn't even look him in the eye at the church. Their loyality was as he'd always suspected, his suspicions finally, however meaninglessly confirmed.

"A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to cast away." Julie stood a few steps behind the group of original Ducks, Luis and Dwayne in her vicinity. They'd struggled with the same issues of acceptance as Adam did. While Adam had first turned to Varsity and later to his doting groupies, Julie shyed away from much of any social contact throughout school, being branded the bitch of Eden Hall. Luis found his niche among the cheerleaders and Dwayne tried fruitlessly to remain a Duck. His naivety once comforted Adam, but he grew to despise it, as it was a sign of mental weakness. The three had since moved on from the Duck cult, reaqcuainted themselves with the 'real world' and thrived.

"A time to rend, and a time to sew; A time to be silent, and a time to speak." Bitterly Adam remembered receiving the phone call last week. He'd just walked into his apartment, fresh from practice, playoffs were coming up and Wells, the coach, had dedicated hours to painstaking technical work. It was a far shot from conditioning but proved just as strenuous. He'd thrown his keys to the ground and laggardly grabbed the phone.

The only person that called him anymore was his brother who he'd somehow salvaged a relationship with when he left home for school, and his dad who was too blinded by his joy of Adam having choose Harvard to care about his obvious signs of depression. If he wasn't skating or studying, he was drinking. He hadn't had a solid relationship with anyone outside his teammates since he'd gone to Massachusetts. His nights were filled with unfamiliar bars and one night stands. Girls threw themselves at his status as hockey captain and conventional good looks. He never even bothered to learn their names. He didn't care about them. He felt the same way about them as he did about the posters Conway used to tack up above his bed in the dorms at Eden.

A vaguely familiar voice cracked on the other line. "Adam… It's Bombay. Charlie… he…passed away last Friday." After those words he stopped listening, only picking up pieces, respiratory infection, funeral, 27th, Minnesota.

He was dead. They hadn't spoken since the fall out in the hospital room three years prior. He'd died despising Adam.

"A time to love, and a time to hate; A time of war, and a time of peace," the priest closed the bible and sprinkled a handful of dirt on the mahogany coffin. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection into eternal life," he spoke once more. Bombay walked slowly up to the grave lying Charlie's tattered, faded green Ducks jersey across the casket. He hung his head, emitting a single sob, as Casey placed a single white rose on top and collapsed into the man's arms. Taking this as a cue, Connie took charge, tears flowing down her cheeks, Guy in close pursuit, tossing her flower into the grave. The rest of the Ducks followed suit. Averman, Peter, Tammy, Luis, Goldberg, Fulton, Ken, Dwayne, and Julie. Adam began to trudge up towards the casket to join his former teammates in paying their final respects to their former captain, but stopped. Everyone there, mourning, the destruction of their former potential and youthfulness, it was overwhelming, haunting. He tore away from the crowd, gaining speed as he sprinted through the rows of headstones and bouquets. He darted through piles of melting snow, decaying leaves, balloons and teddy bears before stumbling on a surfaced root, tripping and toppling to his knees, his tears turning into heaving sobs.

_**"Look at me. I fucked up. And this time I can't change it."**_

_------**  
**_

_"Why do we cry when you know how the story ends?  
How can you laugh when you know that it hurts your friends?  
We've all been there once but you never left  
This is me coming back, back to get you out  
To say goodbye to make amends  
I'm not leaving this place  
Unless I'm leaving with you  
You're the only person with a half decent heart here  
And I know you will put it to use  
Until it's gone, gone, gone  
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, yeah_

_And if you go, I'll be gone  
And you'll be left alone to live your life, as you please  
But someday you'll agree that i was always meant for you  
You were always meant for me and you will see: that you're impossible  
You're impossible_

_Me and Mr. Dylan on the ride home  
We had a heart to heart about life  
But neither him or me could decide for ourselves if we wanted to outlive that night  
Like two children on the playground of the unconfessed souls  
Abandoned by our mothers and our lovers and our foes  
If only we were brave enough to live the lives we stole  
What a wonderful world this could be!_

_So how many more examples until we break?  
How many sacrifices must we make?  
Because we've all been there once before  
And it looks like we've returned once more  
Is this the beginning or the end?_

_The last two soldiers on the battlefield  
Survivors of the war  
They aim at one another while their mothers beg the lord  
If you're listening, I'm missing him  
So somehow bring him home  
How did it come to this?"  
So the soldiers lift their rifles  
They're aiming at the head  
They think of their first love before they take their final breaths  
And some where in the distance they hear something someone said; "How did it come to this?"_

_And as you close your eyes for the big sleep  
I hope you think of me, yeah_

_And as you close your eyes for the big sleep  
I hope you think of me, yeah"_

_-'The Big Sleep' **Streetlight Manifesto **_


End file.
